*t  - 


A  MANUAL 


CLASSICAL  LITERATURE, 

COMPRISING 

BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  NOTICES  OP  THE 

PRINCIPAL  GREEK  AND  ROMAN  AUTHORS, 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIVE  EXTRACTS  PROM  THEIR  WORKS. 

f  ALSO, 

A  BRIEF  SURVEY  OF  THE  RISE  AND  PROGRESS  OF  THE  VARIOUS 

FORMS  OF  LITERATURE, 

WITH  DESCRIPTIONS  OF  THE  MINOR  AUTHORS, 

By  CHARLES  MORRIS.  A 

»  1 


boston  college  library 
CHESTNUT  HILL,  MA96. 


CHICAGO: 

S.  C.  GRIGGS  AND  COMPANY. 

1880. 


Copyright,  1880, 


By  S.  C.  GRIGGS  AND  COMPANY. 


1  KNIGHT  S;  LEONARD'  ~1 

\iic^y 


Donohue  &  Henneberry,  Binders. 


PREFACE. 


While,  under  the  new  ideas  concerning  education,  much  less 
stress  is  laid  upon  the  acquirement  of  the  ancient  languages,  even 
in  a  University  course,  than  of  old,  the  mass  of  students  in  our 
high  schools  and  academies  have  always  been  unable  to  become 
sufficiently  versed  in  these  languages  to  enable  them  to  fluently 
read  the  classic  authors  in  the  original.  Yet  all  scholars  ac¬ 
knowledge  that  some  acquaintance  with  these  authors  is  essential 
to  any  high  degree  of  education,  and  that  the  culture  which 
leaves  out  this  important  department  of  knowledge  is  necessarily 
one-sided  and  incomplete.  In  this  dilemma  recourse  must  be 
had  to  translations  and  critical  treatises,  which,  fortunately,  have 
reached  a  stage  of  perfection  that  obviates  in  great  measure  the 
necessity  for  the  study  of  the  original  tongues.  But  the  versions 
referred  to  occupy  a  considerable  number  of  volumes,  and  are 
not  adapted  to  school  purposes,  for  which  there  is  needed  a  treatise 
sufficiently  concise  to  be  included  in  one  volume  of  moderate  di¬ 
mensions,  while  comprehensive  enough  to  yield  a  glimpse  of  the 
whole  field  of  ancient  literature. 

In  recognition  of  this  necessity,  and  of  the  fact  that  there  is 
no  work  extant  giving  a  general  view  of  the  whole  subject,  with 
criticisms  of  and  illustrative  extracts  from  all  the  more  important 
authors,  this  volume  has  been  prepared.  It  was  written  at  the 
request  of  the  Principals  of  some  of  our  chief  educational  institu¬ 
tions,  who  have  been  greatly  retarded  in  their  literature  classes 
by  the  need  of  such  a  work ;  and  is  offered  to  the  school  world,  and 
to  the  general  reading  public  as  well,  with  the  hope  that  it  may, 
to.  some  useful  extent,  supply  the  deficiency. 

While  giving  special  attention  to  the  most  celebrated  authors, 
an  effort  has  been  made  to  include  a  general  view  of  all  minor 
authors  of  any  renown;  and,  by  aid  of  chapters  describing  the 

3 


4 


PREFACE. 


rise  and  progress  of  the  various  forms  of  literature,  with  a  close 
grouping  of  all  writers  on  similar  subjects,  to  give  a  continuity 
and  cohesion  to  the  whole  work  impossible  in  any  strictly  chrono¬ 
logical  mode  of  treatment.  The  pronouncing  vocabulary  of 
authors’  names  will  also,  it  is  hoped,  prove  a  desirable  feature,  and 
save  both  teacher  and  scholar  the  sometimes  difficult  task  of  seek¬ 
ing  elsewhere  the  correct  pronunciation. 

If  this  work  succeeds  in  giving  a  just,  though  necessarily  very 
concise  idea  of  the  history,  genius  and  style  of  the  various  Greek 
and  Roman  authors,  and  thus  saves,  in  many  instances,  the  neces¬ 
sity  of  a  much  more  extensive  course  of  study,  the  author's  pur¬ 
pose  will  be  gained;  while,  if  an  extended  course  is  desired,  this 
manual  may  prove  of  utility  as  a  handbook  to  the  broad  realm 
of  the  Classics. 

CHARLES  MORRIS. 

« 

2223  Sfring  Garden  Street,  Philadelphia: 

August  1880. 


ALPHABETICAL  AND  PRONOUNCING  LIST  OF  AUTHORS. 


^Enesidemus  (Ee-nes-i-de'-mus). 
yEschines  (Es'-lu-nez). 
-Eschylus  (Es'-ki-lus). 

Esop  (Ee'-sop). 

A-grip'-pa. 

Alcaeus  (Al-see'-us). 

Ale' -man. 

Al-ex'-is. 

Al-i-men'-tus. 

A-meip'-si-as. 

A-nac' -re-on. 

An-ax-ag'-o-ras. 

An-ax-an'  -dri-des. 
An-ax-I-man'-der. 
An-ax-im'-e-nes. 

An-dro-ni'-cus. 

An-tip'-a-ter. 

An-tipli'-a-nes. 

An-to-ni'-nus. 

A-pol-lo-do'-rus. 

A-pol-lo'-ni-us  Pcr-guf-us. 
A-pol-lo'-ni-us  Rho' -di-us. 
Ap'-pi-an. 

Apuleius  (A-pu-lee'-yus). 
A-ra'-tus. 

Ar-ce-si-la'-us. 

Archilochus  (Ar-kil'-o-kus). 
Archimedes  (Ar-ki-me'-dez). 
Ar-i'-on. 

Ar-is-topli'-a-nes 

Ar'-is-totle. 


Ar'-ri-an. 

Atli-e-nae'-us. 

Attius  (At'-she-us)  * 
Au-re'-li-us. 

Au-so'-ni-us. 

A-vi-e'-nus. 

Bas'-sus. 

Be-ro'-sus. 

Bl'-on. 

Bo-e'-thi-us. 

Caj-cil'-i-us. 

Cae'  sar. 

Cal-lim'-a-clius. 

Cal-pur'-ni-us. 

Cal'-vus. 

Cassius  (Cash'-e-us). 
Ca'-to. 

Ca'-to  Cen-so'-ri-us. 
Ca-tul'-lus. 

Ccl'-sus. 

Charon  (Ka'-ron). 
Cliionides  (Ki-on'-i-dez). 
Chry-sip'-pus. 

Cic'-e-ro. 

Cin'-na. 

Clau'-di-an. 

Clan' -di-us. 

Cl  e-an' -tlies. 
Col-u-mel'-la. 

Qo-lu'-tlms. 


*  Two  vowels  connected  with  this  sign  w  are  to  be  pronounced  almost 
quickly  as  though  they  formed  a  single  vowel. 


6 


PRONOUNCING  LIST  OF  AUTHORS. 


Cor'-dus. 

Cras'-sus. 

Cra-tl'-nus. 

Curtius  (Knr'-slie-us). 

De-moc'-ri-tus. 

De-mos'-tlie-nes. 

Din-ol'-o-clms. 

Di-o-do'-rus. 

Dionysius  (Di-o-nish'-e-us). 
Dion}rsius  Halicarnas'sus. 
Dipli'-i-lus. 

DT-us. 

Domitian  (Do-misli'-e-an). 
Dre-pa'-ni-us. 

Em-ped'-o-cles. 

En'-ni-us. 

Ep-i-char'-mus. 

E-pie'-ra-tGs. 

Ep-ic-te'-tus. 

Ep-i-cu'-rus. 

Er-a-tos'-the-nCs. 

E-rin'-na. 

Eu-bu'-lus. 

Eu'-did. 

Eu'-po-lis. 

Eu-rip'-i-dGs. 

Eu-tro'-pi-us. 

Flac'-cus. 

Flo'-rus. 

Fron-tl'-nus. 

Ga'-len. 

Gal -lus. 

Gellius  (Jcl'-li-us). 

Hec-a-tae'-us. 

Hel-la-ni'-cus. 

Hcr-a-cH'rtus. 
lie-rod  -o-tus. 

Hesiod  (Hee'-she-od). 


Hip-par '-elms. 
Hip-poc'-ra-tes. 

Ho'-mer. 

Hor'-ace. 

Hortensius  (Hor-ten'-slic-us). 

I-am'-bli-clms. 

Isaeus  (I-see'-us). 

I-soc'-ra-tes. 

Jo  -se'-plius. 

Jus'-tin. 

Ju'-ve-nal. 

La-be'-ri-us. 

Lae'-vi-us. 

Li'-nus. 

Liv'-y. 

Lon-gl'-nus. 

Lu'  can. 

Lucian  (Loo-she-an). 
Lu-cil'-i-us. 

Lucretius  (Loo-crG'-she-us). 
Lyc'-o-pliron. 

Lysias  (Lish'-e-as). 

Ma-cro'-bi-us. 

Mse-cG'-nas. 

Mag'-nGs. 

Man'-e-tlio. 

Mar-cel-l  i'-nus. 

Martial  (Mar'-she-al). 

Me -la. 

Me-le-a'-gcr. 

Me-nan'-der. 

Mos'-clius. 

Mu-sae'-us. 

My  1 '-lus. 

Nac'-vi-us. 

Ne-me'-si-an. 

Ne'-pos. 

Hon -nus, 


PRONOUNCING-  LIST  OF  AUTHORS. 


7 


O'-len. 

Op'-pi-an. 

Orpheus  (Or'-fus  or  Or'-fe-us). 
Ov'-id. 

Pa-cu'-vi-us. 

Par-men'-i-dCs. 

Pa-ter'-cu-lus. 

Pau-sa'-ni-as. 

Persius  (Per'-she-us). 
Plise'-drus. 

Plii-le'-mon. 

Phi-1  ip'-pi-des. 

Phor'-mis. 

Phryn'-i-clius. 

Pic'-tor. 

Pin'-dar. 

Pla-to. 

Plau'-tus. 

Plin'-y  the  Elder. 

Plin'-y  the  Younger. 
Plo-ti'-nus. 

Plu'-tarcli. 

Pol'-li-o. 

Pol -lux. 

Po-lyb'-i-us. 

Por'-phy-ry. 

Pos-i-dip'-pus. 

Pro '-el  us. 

Propertius  (Pro-per'-she-us). 
Ptolemy  (Tol'-e-me). 

Pyr'-rho. 

Py-tliag'-o-ras. 

Quin-til'-i-an. 

Quin'-tus. 

Ru-til'-i-us. 

Sal'-lust. 

San-cho-nl'-a-tlion. 

Sappho  (Sapli'-o). 


Scipio  (Sip'-e-o). 
Scri-bo'-ni-us. 

Sen'-e-ca. 

Sex'-tus. 

Sil'-i-us. 

Si-mon'-i-des. 

Si-sen '-n  a. 

Soc'-ra-tes. 

Soph'-o-eles. 

Statius  (Sta'-slie-us). 
Ste-sieli'-o-rus. 

Stra'-bo. 

Sue-to'-ni-us. 

Sym'-ma-chus. 

Sy'-rus. 

Tacitus  (Tas'-e-tus). 
Ter'-ence. 

Ter-pan'-der. 

Tha'-les. 

The-oc'-ri-tus. 

The-o-phras'-tus. 

Thes'-pis. 

Thu-cid'-i-dCs. 

Ti-bul'-lus. 

Ti-mse'-us. 

Ti'-mon. 

Tro'-gus. 

Tryph-i-o-do'-rus. 

Tyr-tae'-us. 

Yal'-gi-us. 

Yal'-gi-us  Ru'-fus. 

Va'-ri-us. 

Yar'-ro. 

Yic'-tor. 

Yir'-gil. 

Xanthus  (Zan'-thus). 
Xenophanes  (Ze-nof'-a-n5z). 
Xenophon  (Zen'-o-plion). 

Ze'-no. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PART  I. 

THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 

Chitical  and  Historical  Introduction  25 

Homer  . . 35 

Biographical  Notice . 36 

The  Iliad . 40 

Embassy  of  Ulysses  and  Menelaus  42 

Nestor  Forms  the  Line  of  Battle  _  43 

Venus  is  Wounded  by  Diomed  44 

Hector  and  Andromache  ....  45 

The  Night  Watch . 46 

The  Odyssey . 47 

Mercury  at  Ogygia  . . 48 

The  Palace  of  Alcinous  _  49 

The  Lotus  Eaters . 49 

Achilles  in  Hades . 50 

The  Dog  Argus  51 

Ulysses  Armed  for  Vengeance  .  51 

Hesiod . 52 

Biographical  Notice  ......  53 

His  Father’s  Emigration  ....  54 

The  Works  and  Days . 55 

The  Creation  of  Pandora  ....  55 
Art  of  Wine  Making  .....  56 

Household  Wisdom . 56 

The  Theogony  .......  56 

Aphrodite . .57 

The  Battle  of  the  Gods  ....  57 

The  Shield  of  Hercules  .....  58 
Proverbial  Wisdom . 58 


9 


10 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


The  Early  Lyric  Poets . 59 

Archilochus . 60 

Biographical  Notice . 60 

On  an  Eclipse  of  the  Sun  _  62 

Equanimity  62 

Exhortation  to  Fortitude  under  Calamity  .  _  62 

The  Storm  ______  _  _  62 

The  Mind  of  Man . 63 

Two  Military  Portraits . 63 

Tyrt/eus . 63 

Biographical  Notice .  63 

War  Elegy  . . 64 

Terpander .  65 

Alcman .  65 

To  Megalostrata  ______  .65 

Stesichorus  -  65 

The  Procession  _  _____  .66 

A  Fragment  _______  66 

Alcasus  _________  66 

Biographical  Notice  ______  66 

Convivial  ________  67 

Poverty  ________  67 

The  Constitution  of  a  State . 67 

Sappho  . . 68 

Biographical  Notice  ______  68 

The  Passion  of  Love  ______  69 

Hymn  to  Venus  _______  70 

To  the  Rose  _______  71 

To  Venus  ________  71 

Erinna  _________  72 

Biographical  Notice . 72 

Anacreon  ________  72 

Biographical  Notice  ______  72 

Cupid  Wounded . 73 

The  Triumphs  of  Wine, . 74 

Cupid  Swallowed  . 74 

Youth  and  Age . 74 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


11 


Simonides  . 

_ 

_ 

. 

75 

Biographical  Notice 

- 

- 

_ 

_ 

75 

The  Miseries  of  Life  _ 

_ 

_ 

_ 

76 

Virtue  . 

_ 

_ 

77 

On  Anacreon  _ 

__ 

_ 

_ 

77 

Epitaph  _____ 

- 

- 

- 

_ 

77 

Pindar  ______ 

_ 

_ 

78 

Biographical  Notice 

- 

- 

- 

• 

78 

From  the  First  Pythian  Ode 

- 

- 

- 

79 

From  the  Second  Olympic  Ode 

- 

_ 

- 

- 

80 

From  the  Third  Nemean  _ 

• 

_ 

81 

Onomacritus  _  _  _  _ 

_ 

• 

_ 

82 

Bacchylides . 

_ 

• 

82 

vEsop  . 

_ 

_ 

• 

82 

Biographical  Notice  _ 

- 

- 

- 

82 

The  Lion,  the  Fox,  aud  the  Ass 

_ 

_ 

• 

85 

The  Frogs  Asking  for  a  King  _ 

. 

. 

- 

85 

The  Hare  and  the  Tortoise 

-■ 

__ 

. 

86 

The  Cat  and  the  Mice 

_ 

_ 

_ 

86 

Development  of  the  Greek  Drama 

87 

Arion 

. 

• 

89 

Thespis  _____ 

_ 

_ 

• 

. 

89 

Phryniciius  _  _  _  _  _ 

— 

89 

AEschylus . 

. 

92 

Biographical  Notice  _  _  _ 

- 

- 

- 

92 

The  Prometheus 

_ 

• 

93 

Apostrophe  to  the  Elements 

- 

- 

_ 

94 

Chorus  of  Oceanides 

_ 

_ 

_ 

. 

94 

The  Agamemnon  _  _  _ 

_ 

. 

_ 

95 

Clytemnestra  Honors  the  Returned  Chief 

_ 

96 

The  Choepliori  _ 

- 

- 

- 

97 

The  Eumenides  _ 

_ 

_ 

. 

99 

Orestes  Pledges  Friendship  between 

Argos 

o 

and 

Athens  _ 

. 

— 

_ 

100 

Sophocles  _____ 

_ 

_ 

_ 

100 

Biographical  Notice  . 

- 

- 

- 

100 

Nature’s  Fixed  Laws  _ 

104 

12 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


CEclipus  the  King  104 

Riddle  of  the  Sphinx . 104 

CEdipus  at  Colonns  . . 106 

The  Beauty  of  Colonus  .  106 

The,  Passing-away  of  CEdipus  _  107 

The  Antigone . 107 

Antigone  Scorns  Danger  .  108 

Reply  to  Creon  _  .  _  .  _  _108 

The  Fate  of  Antigone  .  109 

The  Despair  of  Creon . 110 

Euripides  . . .  _  110 

Biographical  Notice  .  .  _  _  .  _110 

The  Medea  114 

The  Wrath  of  the  Wronged  Wife  .  .  _  114 

Medea  Resolves  on  Revenge  _  _  .  115 

Jason’s  Fury  at  the  Death  of  Glauce  .  .  116 

Medea  Taunts  Jason  _  _  .  .  _  116 

The  Hecuba . .  .  116 

Sacrifice  of  Polyxena  _  _  _  _  _  116 

The  Comic  Poets  of  Greece  .  .  _  .  _  .118 

Susarion  118 

Myllus  119 

Chionides  . . 119 

M  AGNES  - . .119 

Epicharmus  ........  119 

Phormis  _  119 

Dinolochus  .  119 

Cratinus  .........  120 

Eupolis . 121 

Ameipsias  121 

Aristophanes . 121 

Biographical  Notice . 121 

The  Knights  123 

Creon  Denounced . 124 

The  Pudding  Seller’s  Gift  .  .  .  _  125 

Appeal  to  the  Appetite  of  Demus  ...  125 

Extract  from  The  Clouds . 126 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  13 

The  Just  and  Unjust  Arguments  .  127 

Those  Plagues  of  Women  .  127 

The  Middle  and  New  Comedy  _  _  .  _  .129 

Eubulus . 130 

Anaxandrides  .  130 

Antiphanes  130 

Epicrates . 130 

Alexis  .  130 

Philemon  .  .  . . ■  _  131 

Diphilus . 131 

Apollodorus  .  .  . . 131 

PlIILIPPIDES . 131 

Posidippus  . .  131 

Menander  131 

Biographical  Notice  .......  131 

His  Misanthropy  ______  132 

Riches  Do  Not  Bring  Happy  Slumber  ...  132 

All  Men  are  Mortal  _  _  .  _  _  _  133 

Epigrams  _  . . 133 

The  Progress  of  History  134 

Sanchoniathon . .134 

Menander . 135 

Dius . 135 

Berosus .  135 

Manetho .  135 

Hecataius  .  136 

Charon . 136 

Xanthus . 136 

Hellanicus . .  _  _136 

Herodotus . 136 

Biographical  Notice . 136  . 

A  Babylonian  Custom  _  .  .  .  _  138 

Persian  Habits  ...  .  139 

Theory  of  the  Rising  of  the  Nile  ...  139 

The  Unknown  West . 140 

Thucydides . .  .  .  141 

Biographical  Notice  .  .  _  _  -  .141 


14 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


History  Distinguished  from  Fable  _  _  .  143 

Oration  of  Archidamus . 143 

War  Destroys  Public  Integrity  ....  144 

Xenophon  . . 145 

Biographical  Notice  .  _  _  .  ■  _  145 

The  Greeks  Despair  147 

An  Accusation  Answered . 147 

From  the  Cyropsedia  ______  149 

Rise  of  Greek  Philosophy  _  -  -  _  _  -  151 

Thales  _________  152 

Anaximander . 152 

Anaximenes . 152 

Pythagoras . 152 

Xenophanes  ________  153 

Parmenides . 153 

Xeno  . . 153 

Heraclitus . 153 

Empedocles  _  . . 154 

Democritus  . . 154 

Anaxagoras . 154 

The  Sophtsts . 155 

Socrates  . . 155 

Biographical  Notice  ______  155 

Socrates  Questions  his  Accusers  _  160 

Conclusion  of  Socrates’  Defense  _  _  _  161 

Plato  . . 161 

Biographical  Notice  ______  161 

From  the  Phsedon  _  _  _  _  _  _  ,166 

From  the  Symposium  _  _  _  _  _  166 

From  the  Parmenides  _  _  _  _  _  167 

From  the  Lysis  . . 167 

Aristotle  _  ________  168 

Biographical  Notice  ______  168 

True  Courage  _______  172 

Pity  Contrasted  to  Envy . 172 

Poetic  Unity  . . 172 

Anger  a  Transitory  Feeling  _  _  _  _  173 

Transition . 173 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  15 

The  Later  Philosophy . 174 

The  Stoical  School . 174 

Zeno  174 

Cleanthes . 174 

Chrysippus . 174 

The  Epicurean  School  _  175 

Epicurus  _  175 

The  Sceptical  School  .  .  >  _  _  _  _175 

Pyrrho . 176 

Timon  _  _  .  _  _  .  _  _  176 

Arcesilaus  _  176 

^Enesidemus . 176 

Agrippa  .  176 

Sextus  Empiricus . 176 

The  Neo-Platonic  Scliool  _  _  _  _  _  .  176 

Plotinus  .  . . 176 

Porphyry  . . 177 

Iamblichus  . . 177 

Proclus . 177 

The  Grecian  School  of  Oratory . 178 

Lysias .  180 

Biographical  Notice . 180 

Eratosthenes  Arraigned . 182 

Isocrates . 184 

Biographical  Notice  ______  184 

Flattery  More  Powerful  than  Truth  .  185 

From  the  Oration  to  Demonicus  .  .  .  186 

Isjsus  186 

Biographical  Notice . 186 

From  the  Defense  of  Grandsons  of  Ciron  .  .187 

From  the  Defense  of  a  Guardian  Against  his  Ward  188 

Demosthenes  _  188 

Biographical  Notice . 188 

From  the  Oration  for  the  Crown  192 

From  the  Oration  on  the  State  of  the  Cliersonesus  193 

From  the  Second  Philippic . 194 

^Eschinus . 195 

Biographical  Notice . 195 


16 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


From  the  Oration  Against  Ctesiphon  _  196 

The  Later  Grecian  Poets . 198 

Lycophron . 199 

Aratas . 199 

Theocrites  200 

Biographical  Notice  ______  200 

The  Syracusan  Gossips . 201 

Description  of  Helen  ______  203 

Callimachus . 204 

Biographical  Notice . 204 

Hymn  on  the  Bath  of  Minerva  _  _  _  _  206 

Epigrams . 207 

Apollonius  Rhodius . 207 

Biographical  Notice  ______  207 

Passion  of  Medea . 208 

Jason  and  Medea  . . 209 

Bion  . . 210 

Biographical  Notice  ______  210 

From  the  Elegy  on  Adonis  _  211 

Hymn  to  the  Evening  Star  _  _  _  _  .212 

Moschus . 212 

Biographical  Notice . 212 

From  the  Elegy  on  Bion  _  _  _  _  _  213 

Alpheus  and  Aretliusa  _  _  _  _  _  .213 

Capricious  Love . 214 

The  Greek  Anthology  . . 215 

Meleager  ________  215 

Dedicatory  Epigrams  ______  217 

Sepulchral  Epigrams . 217 

Amatory  Epigrams  ______  218 

Didactic  Epigrams . 218 

Literary  Epigrams  _  218 

Artistic  Epigrams  . . 219 

Witty  and  Satirical  Epigrams  _  _  _  _  219 

Cretan  Warrior’s  Song . 219 

Grecian  Scientists . 221 

Hippocrates . 221 

Theophrastus . 222 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


17 


Euclid . 223 

Eratosthenes . 223 

Archimedes . .  224 

Apollonius  Perg^eus . 225 

Hipparchus . 225 

Ptolemy . 225 

Later  Greek  Historians . 227 

Tim^eus  .  . 227 

Aratus . .  227 

Polybius . 228 

Biographical  Notice . 228 

Hannibal’s  Crossing  the  Alps  ....  230 
Other  Grjeco-Roman  Historians  ....  232 

Dionysius  Halicarnassus  ......  232 

Diodorus  Siculus . 233 

Appian  . . 234 

Dion  Cassius . 235 

Pausanius  . . 236 

Strabo . 236 

Biographical  Notice . 236 

The  Character  of  the  Gauls  ....  237 

A  Gallic  Fable . 238 

Josephus  .  239 

Biographical  Notice . 239 

The  Burning  of  the  Temple  ....  240 

Plutarch . 242 

Biographical  Notice . .  242 

Antony  ancl  Cleopatra . 244 

The  Death  of  Demosthenes  ....  245 

Arrian  246 

Biographical  Notice  ......  246 

Alexander’s  Reply  to  Darius  .....  248 

The  Founding  of  Alexandria  ....  248 

The  Gordian  Knot  Untied . 249 

Lucian  . . 249 

Biographical  Notice  ______  249 


From  the  Dialogue  Between  Mercury  and  Menippus  251 
1* 


18 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


False  and  True  Philosophers  _  252 

From  the  True  Histories  .  252 

Longinus . .  253 

Biographical  Notice  253 

By  What  Circumstances  is  the  Sublime  Produced  ?  255 

The  Infinite  Excellence  of  the  Great  Authors  _  256 


PART  II. 

THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Critical  and  Historical  Introduction  .  257 

The  Roman  Dramatists . 264 

Livius  Andronicus  264 

Cneius  Nvevius  265 

Ennius  . 266 

Gecilius  Statius . 266 

Pacuyius . .  267 

Attius . 267 

Plautus  .  _  . . 267 

Biographical  Notice  ______  267 

Prologue  to  The  Treasure  .  .  .  _  _  270 

The  Miser,  Act  4,  Scene  5 . 271 

Terence . 273 

Biographical  Notice  ......  273 

The  Fair  Andrian,  Act  3,  Scene  6  .  .  .  .  275 

The  Early  Roman  Poetry  . 278 

Livius . 279 

Lucilius  .  279 

Laberius  . . 280 

Syrus . 280 

Lucretius . 281 

Biographical  Notice . 281 

Iphigenia  Sacrificed . 282 

Condition  of  Primitive  Mankind  ...  283 

Invocation  to  Venus . 284 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


19 


Catullus  . . 284 

Biographical  Notice  . . 284 

Complaint  of  Ariadne  .  286 

To  Himself . 287 

To  Lesbia’s  Sparrow . 288 

Elegy  on  the  Sparrow  288 

Quintia  and  Lesbia  289 

Virgil . _  289 

Biographical  Notice  289 

Praises  of  a  Country  Life . 293 

iEneas  in  Africa . 294 

The  Building  of  Carthage  .....  295 

The  Tavern  Dancing-Girl . 296 

Horace  . . 296 

Biographical  Notice  ______  296 

On  the  Regulation  of  the  Mind  ....  300 

On  the  Luxury  of  his  Age  ....  301 

To  Pyrrha . 302 

To  Maecenas . 302 

Ovid  . . 303 

Biographical  Notice  ......  303 

The  Creation  . . 306 

From  the  Remedy  of  Love  ....  307 

To  a  Waiting-Maid  with  Tablets  ....  308 
Minor  Poets  of  the  Golden  Age  .  .  .  .  310 

Calvus . 310 

Cinna  .  310 

Cato . 310 

Valgius . 310 

Varro  . . 310 

Maecenas  . . 310 

Valgius  Rufus . .  .  .310 

Varius . 310 

Gallus  . . 310 

Tibullus  . . .  310 

Extract  from  Pastoral  Elegy  _  _  _  .  .311 

Propertius . 312 

The  Effigy  of  Love . 312 


20 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


Early  Roman  Orators . 313 

Appius  Claudius  Chscus . 313 

Scipio  313 

Antonius . 314 

Crassus  . . 314 

Hortensius  314 

Yarro  . . 314 

Pollio  . . 315 

Cicero . 315 

Biographical  Notice . 315 

From  Orations  Against  Verres  _  .  _  .  319 

Nature  and  Art  in  Harmony  .  320 

Extract  from  Letter  to  Marcus  Marius  _  _  321 

The  Earlier  Roman  Historians  .  323 

Fabius  Pictor  . . 323 

Cincius  Alimentus . 324 

Cato  Censor  ius  . . 324 

C^elius  Antipater . 325 

Lucius  Sisenna  _______  325 

Cornelius  Nepos  _______  326 

Biographical  Notice  ______  326 

Aristides  _  . 327 

C/ESAIl  _  _  _  _  _  _  _  _  _  328 

Biographical  Notice  ______  328 

The  Battle  of  Pharsalia  _  _  _  _  _  331 

The  Natives  of  Britain  ______  333 

Sallust  _  _  - . 334 

Biographical  Notice  . 334 

The  Companions  of  Catiline  _  _  _  _  336 

A  Successful  Stratagem  ______  337 

Livy  _  _  339 

Biographical  Notice . 339 

A  Causeless  Panic  _  _  _  _  _  _  341 

Tiie  Silver  Age  of  Roman  Literature  _  _  _  _  344 

PhvEdrus  ________  346 

Biographical  Notice . 346 

The  Perils  of  Wealth . 347 

A  Change  of  Masters  not  a  Change  of  Labor  _  347 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


21 


Seneca . 348 

Biographical  Notice . 348 

The  Folly  of  Anger . 350 

Of  Impertinent  Studies . 351 

Stoical  Fatalism . 352 

Lucan . 352 

Biographical  Notice . 352 

The  Characters  of  Caesar  and  Pompey  -  -  354 

The  Sacred  Wood . 355 

Caesar  Crosses  the  Rubicon  ....  355 

Death  of  Pompey . 356 

Statius . 357 

Biographical  Notice . 357 

From  the  Thebaid . 358 

To  his  Wife,  on  his  Intended  Retirement  to  Naples  359 

Persius . 361 

Biographical  Notice . 361 

The  Death  of  the  Sensualist  ....  363 

Reprehension  of  Slothful  Habits  ....  363 

Schoolday  Sports . 365 

Juvenal . 365 

Biographical  Notice . 365 

Emptiness  of  Ambition . 367 

Causes  of  Satire . 369 

Martial . 370 

Biographical  Notice . 370 

On  the  Girl  Erotion . 371 

To  the  Possessor  of  a  Fine  Seat  -  -  -  372 

To  Caecilianus  . 373 

The  Summer  Flitting . 373 

To  a  Boasting  Character  ------  373 

To  Callistratus . 374 

Devoted  Love . 374 

Pliny  the  Elder . 374 

Biographical  Notice . 374 

Sea-Monsters  of  the  Indian  Ocean  -  -  -  377 

The  Peach . 378 

The  Evil  Eye . 378 


22 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


Pliny  the  Younger . 379 

Biographical  Notice . 379 

Letter  to  Tacitus  on  the  Eruption  of  Vesuvius  -  380 

Letter  to  Trajan  Concerning  the  Christians  -  382 

Suetonius . 383 

Biographical  Notice . 383 

Caractacus . 384 

Cicero . 38G 

Quintilian . 380 

Biographical  Notice . 380 

On  the  Death  of  his  Son . 388 

The  Genius  of  Homer . 390 

Tacitus . 390 

Biographical  Notice  ------  390 

The  Reign  of  Terror . 393 

Address  of  Galgacus  to  his  Soldiers  -  394 

Minor  Authors  of  the  Silver  Age  .  .  -  -  -  -  395 

Silius  Italicus . 395 

Valerius  Flaccus . 395 

Domitian . 395 

Aufidius  Bassus . 395 

Cremutius  Cordus . 395 

Velleius  Paterculus . 395 

Valerius  Maximus  -  - . 39G 

Aurelius  Cornelius  Celsus . 390 

Scrtbonius . 390 

Pomponius  Mela . 390 

Junius  Moderatus  Columella  -  397 

Sextus  Julius  Frontinus . 397 

Curtius  Rufus . 397 

Annaeus  Florus . 397 

The  Iron  Age  of  Roman  Literature  -  398 

Poets  of  the  Iron  Age . 401 

Dionysius . 401 

Hymn  to  Apollo . 401 

Oppian . 402 

From  The  Elephant . 402 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


23 


Nemesian . 403 

Song  of  Idas  - . 403 

Calpurnius . 403 

Quintus  Smyrn^eus . 403 

From  the  Fall  of  Troy  -  -  -  -  404 

Ausonius . 404 

Claudian . 404 

Avienus . 405 

Rutilius . 405 

Nonnus' . 405 

From  the  Dionysiacs . 405 

Mus^eus  - . 406 

From  Hero  and  Leander . 406 

Coluthus . 407 

Tryphiodorus . 407 

Prose  Writers  of  the  Iron  Age . 408 

Marcus  Aurelius . 408 

Julius  Pollux  -  408 

Aulus  Gellius . 408 

From  Noctes  Attica? . 409 

Lucius  Apuleius  - . 410 

From  Cupid  and  Psyche . 411 

Galen . 412 

Atiien^eus . 413 

Aurelius  Victor . 414 

Flavius  Eutropius . 414 

Ammianus  Marcellinus . 414 

Justinus  Frontinus . 414 

Trogus  Pompeius  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  414 

Drepanius  - . 415 

Aurelius  Symmacijus . 415 

Macrobius . 415 

Boethius . >  -  -  -  416 

The  Instability  of  Fame  ------  416 

Wealth  Is  Not  Worth . 417 


PART  I. 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

Three  thousand  years  ago  the  boundaries  of  the  civilized 
world  were  strikingly  different  from  what  they  now  are. 
In  fact,  despite  man’s  long  previous  residence  upon  the 
earth,  he  had  only  fairly  commenced  to  exist  as  a  civilized 
being  at  the  opening  of  this  period.  The  origin  of  civiliza¬ 
tion  extends  farther  back  into  the  past;  but  it  had,  at  that 
time,  attained  a  very  imperfect  development,  and  was  con¬ 
fined  to  a  very  limited  region.  ’  And  though  literature 
undoubtedly  had  its  beginning  in  the  preceding  period, 
it  is  very  doubtful  if  any  of  this  primitive  literature  still 
exists.  More  probably  all  extant  relics  of  ancient  litera¬ 
ture  are  products  of  the  above-named  epoch.  Though 
rooted  in  a  preceding  soil  of  human  thought,  they  did  not 
earlier  attain  their  matured  form. 

India,  Persia  and  China  may  have  possessed  earlier  lit¬ 
eratures.  The  Chaldeans,  the  Hebrews,  the  Phoenicians  and 
the  Egyptians  undoubtedly  did.  Yet  it  is  very  probable 
that  these  products  of  human  thought,  at  least  in  their 
original  form,  have  perished,  and  that  no  extant  literature 
can  claim  a  greater  age  than  the  above-named  period  of 
thirty  centuries. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  epoch,  Greece,  the  destined 
birth-place  of  classic  literature,  had  not  yet  emerged  from 

25 


26 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


the  darkness  of  the  prehistoric  ages.  The  Semitic  peoples 
above  mentioned  had  left  abundant  traces  of  their  historical 
progress  ere  yet  any  of  the  Aryan  tribes  had  thrown  off  the 
cloak  of  barbarism  and  claimed  its  place  upon  the  stage  of 
history.  The  early  annals  of  Greece,  in  fact,  are  in  a  state 
of  inextricable  confusion,  being  chiefly  composed  of  legends, 
into  which  the  element  of  the  supernatural  enters  so  largely 
as  to  destroy  their  historical  value. 

We  only  know  that  the  Pelasgians,  who  are  the  first- 
named  possessors  of  Greece,  had  yielded  to  the  pressure  of 
the  conquering  Hellenes,  who,  at  the  opening  of  history, 
appear  as  the  undisputed  masters  of  the  peninsula,  and 
whose  colonies  are  quietly  settled  on  the  neighboring  coasts 
of  Asia  Minor.  What  had  become  of  the  vanished  Pelasgi, 
and  whether  the  Hellenes  themselves  are  not  of  Pelasgian 
extraction,  are  questions  as  yet  unsettled. 

That  this  conquering  tribe  partook,  to  some  degree,  in 
the  intellectual  activity  of  the  nations  of  southwestern  Asia 
and  northeastern  Africa,  cannot  well  be  doubted.  The  Med¬ 
iterranean  was  a  means  of  readv  intercourse,  of  which  the 
civilized  nations  of  that  age  freely  availed  themselves, — the 
Egyptians  for  purposes  of  conquest;  the  Phoenicians  for 
commercial  objects:  and  the  alert  mind  of  the  Hellenes 
could  not  fail  to  be  aroused  to  action  by  contact  with  these, 
even  then,  ancient  civilizations.  The  Greeks  themselves 
were  probably  daring  navigators  at  the  same  early  age,  if 
we  may  judge  from  the  evidence  of  Homer  and  Hesiod, 
and,  no  doubt,  visited  these  neighboring  coasts,  both  for 
physical  and  mental  commerce. 

Their  early  legends  have  many  indications  to  this  effect, 
of  which  the  most  direct  is  the  story  of  Cadmus,  who  is  said 
to  have  brought  to  Greece  an  alphabet  of  sixteen  letters,  at 
a  date  given  at  about  1550  b.c.  This  date  and  the  story 
itself  are,  of  course,  unreliable;  yet  such  legends  are  valua¬ 
ble  as  showing  whence  came  the  earliest  inspiration  of  the 


CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION. 


27 


Grecian  literature,  which  was  so  soon  to  flower  into  the  full 
vigor  of  the  classical  era. 

Just  when  the  life  of  the  Hellenes,  as  a  literary  people, 
began,  or  what  was  the  value  of  their  earliest  efforts  in  this 
direction,  we  have  no  means  of  ascertaining.  The  names 
of  many  writers  previous  to  Homer  have  been  preserved; 
as  O'len,  L'i'nus,  Or'pheus,  Musse'us,  etc.;  but  of  their  writ¬ 
ings  not  an  authentic  trace  remains,  and  to  us  the  literature 
of  Greece  emerges  from  the  darkness  of  time  in  the  sudden 
burst  of  glory  with  which  Homer  rises  into  the  literary 
firmament,  shedding  his  lustre  through  all  the  succeeding 
ages.  But  no  sun  ever  rose  without  a  preceding  twilight, 
of  longer  or  shorter  duration;  and  a  long  previous  culture 
is  as  plainly  evidenced  in  the  rare  structure  and  admirable 
language  of  Homer’s  poems  as  it  could  be  in  our  possession 
of  the  works  of  these  vanished  authors. 

As  to  the  form  of  these  earlier  literary  labors,  both  its 
culmination  in  the  Iliad,  and  the  example  of  other  primi¬ 
tive  literatures,  incline  us  to  believe  that  it  was  poetic. 
Highly  as  poetry  deserves  to  be  estimated  in  its  fullest 
development,  the  fact  remains  patent  that  it  is  the  product 
of  that  phase  of  mentality  which  is  earliest  ripened,  both  in 
individuals  and  in  races.*  The  reasoning  faculties,  whether 
innately  superior  or  not,  are  of  later  development  than 
the  imaginative,  and  are  necessary  to  the  toning  down  of 
the  exuberant  and  inartistic  spirit  of  the  latter. 

Thought  dawns  upon  mankind  in  the  form  of  imagina¬ 
tive  wonders  and  terrors.  Time  tames  and  widens  the 
range  of  these,  purifying  and  invigorating  the  imagination. 
But  its  products  cannot  properly  be  called  poetry  until 
an  artistic  faculty  is  developed.  This  is  the  element  of 
discretion  added  by  reason  to  the  wild  figments  of  the 
imagination,  perfecting  the  crude  fancies  of  the  primitive 
mind  into  artistic  and  pleasing  forms. 

Such  is  the  origin  of  poetry.  How  long  it  may  have 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


been  incubating  in  Greece  it  would  be  difficult  to  tell:  but 

O  7 

Homer  dawns  upon  us  as  the  refined  product  of  such  a  long 
continued  growth  of  the  poetic  art. 

Of  the  various  forms  which  poetry  assumes  in  its  de¬ 
velopment,  the  earliest,  in  all  cases,  appears  to  be  the  epic. 
We  class  here  under  the  epic  all  poetry  which  has  for  its 
object  the  exterior  world,  in  contrast  with  the  other  great 
division,  the  lyric,  which  is  subjective  in  its  tendency,  and 
employs  as  its  material  the  mental  conditions  of  the  writer. 

To  the  mind  of  a  people  just  awakening  to  the  sublime 
mysteries  of  nature;  deifying  a  thousand  processes  which 
we  relegate  to  the  domain  of  the  physical  sciences;  making 
heroes  of  its  chieftains,  and  demigods  of  earlier  heroes;  full 
of  the  spirit  of  its  legendary  tales,  and  alive  to  the  most 
apparent  and  the  grandest  of  Nature’s  analogies;  the  epic  is 
the  form  which  its  highest  thought  would  naturally  assume, 
as  the  lyric  is  the  mode  in  which  more  fully  cultured  peoples 
sing  of  their  loves,  hopes  and  aspirations, — while  leaving 
their  achievements  to  the  historian,  their  faiths  to  the 
priest. 

The  highly  imaginative  tendency  of  the  Hellenic  mind 
is  markedly  shown  in  the  Grecian  mythology,  which  is,  in 
itself,  a  succession  of  crude  poems,  the  silent  growth  of 
long  ages  of  mental  activity.  No  other  people  has  wrought 
the  phenomena  of  nature  into  such  a  wealth  of  attractive 
personifications;  the  tribes  of  the  north,  with  their  sledge¬ 
hammer  mythology,  falling  far  short  of  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  these  southern  conceptions,  which  have  ever  since 
formed  a  storehouse  of  poetic  symbolism. 

But  the  dainty  and  fanciful  use  of  the  mythical  tales 
of  Greece  by  modern  poets  differs  essentially  from  the  vital 
influence  of  their  deific  fancies  upon  the  minds  of  the 
earlier  Grecians.  Instead  of  using  them  as  neat  embellish¬ 
ments,  or  pretty  similes,  they  wove  them  so  deeply  into 
the  web  of  their  conceptions,  that  to  destroy  the  super- 


CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION. 


29 


natural  element  in  their  works  would  almost  be  to  an¬ 
nihilate  the  works  themselves. 

Thus  specially  adapted  by  their  strongly  imaginative 
character,  and  by  the  wealth  of  their  legendary  and  myth- 
ologic  treasures,  the  Hellenes  early  gravitated  to  the  epic 
poem  as  the  most  complete  mode  of  expression  of  their 
mental  aspirations.  That  this  form  of  literary  composition 
was  long  practiced  in  those  far-off  ages  which  yield  us  alone 
the  bare  names  of  their  authors,  we  have  highly  satisfactory 
evidence  in  the  works  of  Homer.  For,  like  all  things  else, 
the  epic  poem  cannot  have  reached  its  highest  ideal  of 
form,  imagery,  and  mode  of  treatment,  without  a  previous 
period  of  development  ;  and  such  an  ideal  we  have  in  the 
Iliad,  the  flower  of  the  vanished  earlier  literature  of  Greece. 

But  the  epoch  of  the  wandering  minstrel,  in  which  Homer 
sang  his  stirring  verses  from  court  to  court,  and  from  city 
to  city,  passed  away,  as  Greece  rose  from  the  half  civiliza¬ 
tion  of  the  prehistoric  epoch  to  the  full  enlightenment  of 
Athenian  glory.  In  its  early  days  the  literature  was 
national  in  character,  each  tribe  cultivating  that  form  best 
suited  to  its  disposition  and  capacities,  while  a  common 
language  rendered  it  the  common  property  of  all.  The 
fame  of  the  best  writers  soon  spread  over  all  Greece,  and 
the  poets  and  sages  were  in  the  habit  of  visiting  certain 
cities,  which  served  as  theatres  for  their  sonsfs.  Amoim 
these  Sparta  stood  highest  in  the  earlier  period,  the  Lace¬ 
daemonians,  while  producing  little  themselves,  being  thought 
good  judges  of  art  and  literature. 

But  Greek  literature  took  a  different  form  when  Athens, 
by  political  power,  and  by  the  mental  supremacy  of  her 
citizens,  became  a  capital  of  art;  not  only  her  copious 
native  productions  being  received  with  admiration  through¬ 
out  Greece,  but  her  judgment  and  taste  predominating, 
and  deciding  what  constituted  literary  excellence. 

The  Athenians  spoke  the  Ionian  dialect,  and  partook  of 


30 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


that  something  in  the  Ionian  blood  that  gave  intellectual 
supremacy  over  the  Doric,  unless  it  may  be  that  the  differ¬ 
ence  in  results  was  caused  by  the  influence  of  divergent 
laws  and  customs. 

The  first  Grecian  literature  of  note  came  from  the 
Ionians  of  Asia  Minor  and  the  adjacent  islands.  Thence 
sprung  epic,  iambic  and  elegiac  poetry;  there  arose  history 
and  philosophy.  In  the  soft  and  mild  climate  and  pro¬ 
ductive  valleys  of  Asia,  in  the  warm  suns  and  limpid  seas 
of  the  islands,  the  restless  and  mobile  Ionic  spirit  found 
inspiration  and  blossomed  into  song,  while  yet  the  rocky  and 
unfertile  Attic  soil  was  barren  of  literary  growth.  But 
Asiatic  luxury  took  captive  the  strength  and  intellect  of 
the  colonists,  and  they  in  time  fell  before  the  Lydian  and 
the  Persian  invasions. 

But  Attica  preserved  the  old  Ionian  spirit.  Free  from 
luxury,  and  alert  against  conquest,  she  offered  a  fertile  soil 
for  the  winged  seeds  of  thought.  After  Solon  came  the 
mild  tyranny  of  the  Pisistrati'dse,  who  reigned  for  fifty 
years;  but  who  did  their  utmost  to  encourage  art  and 
literature.  The  gentle  and  refined  Hippar'chus  invited 
poets  from  all  quarters  to  Athens.  Yet  the  literary  spirit 
that  was  slowly  maturing  in  Attica  seemed  repressed  by 
this  despotic  rule,  despite  its  mildness,  and  did  not  spring 
into  luxuriance  until  the  fall  of  the  tyrants  allowed  the 
democratic  spirit  to  prevail. 

But  it  was  the  peril  of  the  Grecian  race,  the  struggle  for 
self-preservation  against  the  invading  Persians,  that  gave 
the  Attic  intellect  its  highest  stimulus.  Their  success  in 
hurling  back  the  overwhelming  power  of  the  Persians 
stirred  the  soul  of  the  Athenians  to  its  depths,  and  wak¬ 
ened  in  the  triumphant  state  a  self-poise,  and  an  intel¬ 
lectual  vigor,  such  as  the  world  had  never  known.  With 
the  first  onslaught  of  the  Persians  tragedy  appeared  in 
Phryni'cus  and  vEs'chylus,  oratory  in  Themis' tocles,  his- 


CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION. 


31 


tory  in  Pherecy'des,  and  art  in  other  men  of  genius. 
But  with  the  final  overthrow  of  the  invaders,  while 
all  Greece  was  spurred  into  mental  activity,  Athens,  the 
first  in  glory  and  power,  became  the  leading  spirit  in 
literature,  and  appreciated  and  delighted  in  intellectual 
talent  to  a  degree  which  no  other  ancient  people  ever 
displayed.  It  was  not  a  cultivated  class,  it  was  the 
whole  free  people  of  the  state,  who  thus  felt  the  charm 
of  literature  and  art,  and  constituted  themselves  warm 
critics  of  the  works  of  their  poets,  dramatists  and  artists, 
sitting  in  judgment  on  the  labors  of  the  contestants  for 
their  favor  in  a  manner  which  has  never  since  been  emu¬ 
lated. 

As  Greece  had  undoubtedly  been  full  of  the  vigor  of 
ballad-writing  bards  before  it  bloomed  into  the  epic  of 
Homer,  so,  doubtless,  during  the  long  dark  period  between 
Homer  and  the  lyric  artists,  the  intellect  of  the  Hellenes 
was  not  at  rest,  but  was  gradually  building  itself  into  a  nest 
for  the  poets  whom  we  find  so  suddenly  singing  on  all  sides 
their  ringing  songs.  The  lyric  grew  as  the  epic  had  done, 
born  in  Ionia  and  the  Aegean  islands,  but  finding  its  true 
home  in  Athens.  “  Those  busy  Athenians,  who  are  never 
at  rest  themselves,  nor  are  willing  to  let  any  one  else  be,” 
wrought  up  these  writers  to  the  highest  pitch  of  attain¬ 
ment,  with  the  assurance  that  their  noblest  works  would 
be  best  received  by  their  critical  hearers. 

The  lyric  reached  its  culmination  during  the  rule  of 
Hippar'chus,  and  was  succeeded,  after  his  death,  by  the 
sudden  advent  of  the  drama,  which  had  for  a  century  been 
slowly  taking  form  in  the  rural  districts  of  Attica.  The 
birth  of  tragedy  dates  from  the  Persian  war,  in  which 
iEs'chylus,  the  first  great  tragic  artist,  won  high  honors 
as  a  soldier  in  the  conflict  against  Dari' us  and  Xerx'es. 
He  was  quickly  followed  by  Soph'ocles  and  Eurip'ides, 
and  by  Aristoph'anes,  the  greatest  of  ancient  comedians. 


32 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


During  the  same  period  philosophy  and  history  moved 
westward  from  Asiatic  Ionia,  and  found  a  home  in  Athens, 
oratory  grew,  art  flourished,  and  architecture  reached  its 
highest  development.  In  short,  for  a  period  of  one  hun¬ 
dred  and  fifty  years  Athens  was  the  seat  of  an  intellectual 
outburst  which  remains  the  greatest  of  all  “  the  wonders 
of  the  world.” 

The  Athens  of  the  Persian  war  was  little  more  than 
an  ordinary  town,  the  capital  of  a  district  of  the  size  of 
an  English  county.  Pisis'tratus  and  his  sons  had  begun 
to  adorn  it  with  some  temples,  and  built  a  part  of  the 
Diony'siac  theatre;  but  the  town  itself  was  but  a  cluster 
of  villages  with  a  common  wall,  a  wooden  rampart  being 
the  only  defense  of  the  citadel. 

The  Persians  left  it  a  heap  of  ruins,  with  walls  flung 
down,  houses  leveled,  gardens  destroyed.  But  in  472  b.c., 
under  the  influence  of  Per'icles,  the  common  treasury  of  the 
Grecian  allies  was  removed  to  Athens,  and  seems  to  have 
been  largely  employed  in  rebuilding  the  city.  Temple  and 
hall,  colonnade  and  theatre,  gymnasium  and  court,  sprang 
up  together  under  the  fostering  care  of  Per'icles,  while 
such  sculptors  as  Phid'ias,  and  such  painters  as  Zeux'is, 
adorned  the  city  with  the  noblest  products  of  their  art. 

The  Athens  that  thus  rose  in  place  of  the  old  city  was 
a  marvel  of  beauty  and  art,  adorned  with  statuary  until 
its  marble  inmates  almost  equaled  in  number  its  living 
inhabitants,  the  resort  of  strangers  from  all  quarters,  of 
workers  in  marble  and  metal,  of  artists,  poets  and  philoso¬ 
phers,  drawn  thither  as  to  a  common  center  of  the  human 
intellect. 

A  few  years  passed,  and  the  devastating  Peloponnesian 
war  stopped  this  architectural  growth,  and  left  the  Athens 
of  old  frozen  into  marble,  a  thing  of  beauty  forever.  But 
its  intellectual  growth  continued.  Despite  the  gradual 
moral  debasement  which  was  coming  upon  the  city,  its 


CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION. 


33 


dramatists  continued  to  write,  its  artists  to  produce,  while 
philosophy  took  its  new  and  highest  form  in  the  specula¬ 
tions  of  Soc' rates  and  Pla'to,  oratory  reached  its  culmina¬ 
tion  in  Demos' thenes,  intellectual  and  physical  science 
gained  a  noble  exponent  in  Aristo'tle,  and  the  chisel  of 
Praxit'eles  gave  birth  to  a  less  heroic  but  most  charming 
form  of  sculpture. 

This  Athenian  supremacy  was  not  undisputed.  Other 
cities  strove  to  win  the  favor  of  the  muses.  Sicily,  in 
particular,  displayed  a  considerable  degree  of  intellectual 
activity,  and,  in  the  early  comedy,  even  surpassed  Attica. 
Several  of  its  monarchs  sought  to  make  their  courts  centers 
of  literature,  particularly  King  Hi'ero,  who  surrounded 
himself  with  such  writers  as  iLschvlus,  Pindar  and  Simon'- 
ides.  Yet  the  favor  of  a  court  dies  with  the  monarch, 
the  favor  of  a  people  lives  with  the  race,  and  Athens 
continued  the  home  of  literature  and  the  arts. 

But  Philip  of  Macedon,  who  conquered  Greece,  and  his 
son  Alexander,  who  conquered  the  world,  conquered  liter¬ 
ature  as  well.  The  grand  efforts  of  Demosthenes  were 
the  expiring  throes  of  the  supreme  Athenian  intellect, 
the  fire  that  burns  brightest  before  being  extinguished. 
Literature  existed  after  his  death;  but  it  was,  in  great  part, 
a  literature  without  a  soul.  Only  its  empty  form  survived. 

The  conquests  of  Alexander  produced  their  best  fruits 
in  the  establishment  of  Alexandria,  where  the  fostering  care 
of  the  Ptol'emies  did  its  utmost  to  rejuvenate  literature, 
and  succeeded  in  adorning  their  reigns  with  the  genius 
of  such  writers  as  the  pastoral  poets  Theoc'ritus,  Bi'on 
and  Mos'chus,  and  the  less  original  strains  of  Callim'achus, 
Apollo' nius  ’and  others.  But  the  literature  thus  fostered 
was  not  the  spontaneous  growth  of  an  intellectual  people. 
It  was  exotic  in  character  and  artificial  in  development, 
forced  in  the  hot-bed  of  royal  patronage  beyond  the  merit 
and  simplicity  of  nature. 


34 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


The  greatest  aid  of  the  Ptolemies  to  literature  lay  in  the 
establishment  of  their  immense  library,  in  which  all  that 
was  yet  obtainable  of  the  ancient  Greek  literature  was 
saved  from  destruction;  the  library  of  Aristotle  being 
purchased  and  placed  on  its  shelves,  the  original  copies  of 
the  great  dramatists  brought  from  Athens,  while  every 
book  brought  by  captain  or  merchant  to  Alexandria  was 
copied,  the  original  being  retained  and  the  copy  returned. 
For  the  same  purpose  Man'etho  wrote  his  valuable  history 
of  Egypt,  and  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  were  translated  — 
the  important  Greek  version  of  the  Pen'tateuch  at  least, 
if  not  the  whole  Sep'tuagint  translation. 

In  the  aisles  of  this  great  library  grew  up  a  race  of 
grammarians,  ehronologists  and  literary  critics,  who,  while 
changing,  often  for  the  worse,  the  works  of  their  great 
predecessors,  yet  did  most  important  labor  in  collating, 
editing  and  arranging  the  scattered  and  confused  remains 
of  the  ancient  writings. 

Deme' trius,  the  Phale'rian,  a  disciple  of  Theophras'tus 
and  friend  of  Menan'der,  passed  from  Athens  to  Alexan¬ 
dria,  and  gained  great  influence  over  Ptolemy  Soter,  whom 
he  induced  to  encourage  literature.  The  study  of  gram¬ 
mar  and  criticism  established  by  him  was  pursued  by 
Zenod'atus,  who  prepared  an  elaborate  edition  of  all  the 
poets  except  the  dramatists;  but  whose  greatest  work  was 
his  edition  of  Homer,  in  which  the  numerous  and  dis¬ 
cordant  manuscripts  were  first  brought  into  a  consistent 
form.  He  was  followed  by  his  pupil  Aristoph'anes,  who 
edited  the  poets  and  philosophers.  But  the  complete  estab¬ 
lishment  of  the  Alexandrian  school  of  grammar  and  criti- 
cism  is  due  to  Aristar'chus,  the  greatest  critic  of  ancient 
times,  and  a  wonderfully  acute  and  accurate  compiler.  All 
his  works  are  lost;  but  the  poems  of  Homer,  as  they  now 
exist,  are  chiefly  in  the  form  left  by  his  revision. 

Under  these  most  eminent  of  the  critics  was  a  host  of 


HOMER. 


35 


literary  pedants,  who  compiled  glossaries,  grammars  and 
commentaries,  fixed  the  Greek  language  in  a  uniform  state, 
and  added  to  and  remodeled  the  ancient  works.  We  have 
them  to  thank  for  the  preservation  of  many  of  the  best 
specimens  of  Greek  literature. 

The  great  librarians  of  the  Alexandrian  library,  as 
Callimachus,  Eratos'thenes  and  Apollo' nius,  distinguished 
themselves  likewise  in  these  critical  arts;  while  the  liberal 
endowments  of  the  monarchs  and  the  establishment  of  the 
Museum  gave  an  encouragement  to  science  which  resulted 
in  many  valuable  discoveries.  These  we  will  consider  in 
a  future  chapter. 

With  the  works  of  a  few  writers  of  some  eminence, 
scattered  at  intervals  over  the  succeeding  centuries,  Greek 
literature  ends,  never  regaining  the  wonderful  power  it 
displayed  during  the  brief  century  and  a  half  of  Athenian 
glory. 

HO'MER. 

FLOURISHED  ABOUT  850  B.C. 

Out  of  the  utter  silence  and  shadow  in  which  dwells  the 
remote  past  of  the  great  Grecian  people,  comes  the  voice 
of  this  renowned  writer,  and  straightway  a  broad  land¬ 
scape  of  human  history  lies  revealed  to  us,  lit  up  as  it 
were  by  the  lightning  flash  of  genius. 

For  the  touch  of  Homer  is  one  to  which  the  chords 
of  human  nature  in  all  ages  thrill  and  vibrate;  and  the 
immunity  of  his  works  from  the  destruction  which  over¬ 
came  those  of  his  predecessors  is,  no  doubt,  largely  due 
to  this  supreme  merit,  and  to  the  lofty  estimation  in  which 
they  were,  in  consequence,  held  by  his  countrymen.  In 
fact,  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  formed,  to  a  certain  degree, 
the  Grecian  Scriptures,  and  were  as  religiously  preserved 
and  as  reverently  studied  as  though  they  indeed  possessed 
a  sacred  character. 


36  THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 

As  to  the  personality  and  history  of  the  poet,  he  is  to 
us  simply  Homer  —  blind  man, —  a  name  only;  which  has 
come  to  us  out  of  the  past,  without  date  or  history.  There 
are,  it  is  true,  many  legends  concerning  him;  and,  indeed, 
a  detailed  life,  which  has  been  attributed  to  the  historian 
Herod'otus.  This  makes  him  a  native  of  Asia  Minor;  a 
traveler  to  Egypt,  Italy  and  Spain;  losing  his  sight  at 
Ithaca;  and  afterward  singing  his  lays,  as  a  wandering 
minstrel,  in  the  towns  of  Asia  Minor,  the  islands  of  the 
Archipelago,  and  even  the  streets  of  Athens. 

With  these  stories,  however,  criticism  has  dealt  un¬ 
sparingly.  It  is  now  generally  admitted  that  there  is  no 
authentic  external  evidence  of  his  liistorv,  and  that  we 
have  but  the  poems  themselves,  with  the  internal  evidence 
which  they  present,  from  which  to  glean  any  trustworthy 
knowledge  of  the  life  and  times  of  the  author. 

These  partly  corroborate  the  traditions  which  make  him 
a  native  of  Asia  Minor,  and  which  point  to  Smyrna  as  the 
city  having  the  greatest  claim  to  his  nativity.  The  dialect 
in  which  they  are  written,  the  Ionic,  was  that  used  by 
other  great  writers  of  the  same  region,  as  Herod'otus,  the 
noted  historian,  and  Hippoc' rates,  the  celebrated  physician. 
The  frequent  allusions,  also,  to  the  vigorous  northwest 
winds  blowing  from  Thrace,  indicate  the  coast  of  Asia 
Minor  as  the  home  of  the  poet. 

The  period  in  which  he  lived  is  as  uncertain  as  are 
the  events  of  his  life.  As  to  the  Trojan  war,  if  it  had  any 
more  real  existence  than  the  fabled  exploits  of  the  Knights 
of  the  Round  Table,  its  epoch  is  utterly  buried  in  the 
clouds  of  the  remote  past.  The  poet  himself  certainly 
lived  considerably  before  the  date  of  the  first  Olympiad, 
776  b.c.  Yet  from  what  we  know  of  the  civilization  of 
the  Grecian  people,  at  their  first  appearance  within  the 
historic  horizon,  and  their  rapid  subsequent  progress,  it 
does  not  appear  as  if  we  can  retire  many  centuries  beyond 


HOMER. 


37 


this  horizon  without  finding  them  not  yet  emerged  from 
barbarism;  or.  at  least,  in  such  a  crude  social  condition 
as  is  evidenced  in  the  Pelasgian  remains;  partially  pene¬ 
trated,  no  doubt,  by  the  spirit  of  the  active  neighboring 
civilizations,  but  not  yet  roused  to  literary  emulation. 

It  appears,  then,  as  if  we  have  a  certain  range  of  time 
within  which  to  limit  the  age  of  Homer.  Herodotus  esti¬ 
mates  his  period  at  400  years  previous  to  his  own,  or  about 
850  b.c.  This  date,  however,  is  purely  conjectural,  though 
it  is  not  improbable  that  the  poet  lived  at  some  period 
within  the  200  years  succeeding  the  time  of  Solomon,  1000 
b.c.  The  polish  and  richness  of  the  language  he  uses,  and 
the  degree  of  national  culture  manifested  in  his  poems,  seem 
inconsistent  with  an  epoch  previous  to  the  earlier  of  these 
dates,  and  he  certainly  did  not  live  much  after  the  later. 

In  estimating  the  position  of  Homer  as  a  writer,  we 
must  start  with  the  conception  that  he  was  not  the  epic 
poet  of  a  literary  age, —  not  a  Virgil,  Dante  or  Milton.  He 
belonged,  rather,  to  the  minstrel  epoch  of  literature,  being 
the  popular  bard  of  a  bookless  era,  instead  of  the  poet  of 
a  period  in  which  well  stored  libraries  and  literary  culture 
at  once  enrich  and  impoverish  the  writer, —  enrich  him 
by  the  garnered  thought  of  the  past,  impoverish  him  by 
the  fact  that  the  field  of  visible  nature,  that  field  so  fertile 
in  striking  allusions,  grand  similes,  and  sublime  imagery, 
has  been  already  gleaned. 

To  Homer  it  was  virgin  soil,  and  he  has  wrought  it  with 
the  free  grasp  of  a  master  of  expression,  and  of  a  mind  in 
intimate  sympathy  with  nature.  But  his  poems  plainly 
appertain  to  the  age  of  minstrelsy,  and  indeed,  in  some 
degree,  lack  the  consecutiveness  of  a  self-originated  plot, 
seeming  to  some  critical  writers  to  be  simply  a  skillful 
combination  of  numerous  popular  ballads  extant  before  his 
time,  and  welded  by  him  into  a  rich  epic  form. 

This  is  the  theory  originated  by  Wolf,  the  German  critic, 


38 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


and  since  maintained  by  many  of  his  countrymen;  some  of 
them  viewing  the  Iliad  as  the  patchwork  labor  of  one  or 
more  compilers  of  these  floating  ballads  of  the  heroic  age  of 
Grecian  fable. 

But  the  more  moderate  critics  dissent  from  this  view. 
The  Iliad  bears  too  evidently  the  marks  of  a  single  hand, 
and  is,  moreover,  infiltrated  with  a  rich  simplicity  and  a 
vigorous  genius  which  soar  far  beyond  the  ordinary  grasp 
of  the  vagrant  bards  of  a  half-civilized  age. 

That  Homer  owed  much  of  his  material  to  his  predeces¬ 
sors,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt.  He  availed  himself  of  the 
legends  of  his  country  in  the  same  spirit  that  Shakespere 
used  the  earlier  drama,  and  with  as  wonderful  a  result.  It 
was  crude  ore  that  he  threw  into  the  furnace  of  his  mind: 
it  was  refined  gold  that  flowed  from  the  crucible  of  his 
genius.  The  Iliad  is  one  work,  filled  with  one  spirit,  in¬ 
stinct  with  one  thought,  equally  pure  in  its  language  and 
elevated  in  its  style,  and  as  fully  the  culmination  of  the 
minstrel  epos  as  Hamlet  is  of  the  romantic  drama. 

It  is  doubtful  if  there  are  any  works  of  an  imaginative 
character  extant  which  possess  a  double  interest  to  the  same 
degree  as  the  Homeric  poems;  an  interest  in  themselves  as 
noble  works  of  art,  and  an  equal  interest  in  the  graphic 
picture  they  give  us  of  a  state  of  society  of  which  we  have 
no  other  record,  but  which  they  so  accurately  photograph 
that  we  seem  to  live  again  the  life  of  that  prehistoric  age. 
The  labors  and  tools  of  the  husbandman,  the  life  in  cities, 
the  modes  and  instruments  of  war,  the  social  habits  of  the 
people,  are  drawn  with  vivid  minuteness;  while  scenes  of 
domestic  life,  and  details  of  social  intercourse,  yield  us 
striking  glimpses  of  the  home  existence  of  this  far  removed 
people. 

In  their  religious  features  the  poems  of  Homer  were  an 
authority  with  the  Greeks.  They  constantly  quote  his  de- 
istic  views  and  stories  with  all  the  deference  due  to  sacred 


HOMER. 


39 


dogmas,  and  never  seem  to  recognize  the  grotesque  and 
ridiculous  character  of  the  situations  in  which  he  often 
places  their  gods  and  goddesses,  accepting  these  legends  in 
the  same  spirit  of  simple  faith  in  which  he  relates  them. 

As  for  the  primitive  history  of  the  Hellenic  race,  Homer 
is  as  valuable  as  Herod' otus  and  Tliucyd'ides  are  for  the 
later  periods.  In  fact,  he  yields  us  an  important  record  of 
the  early  stages  of  civilized  society  which  is  valuable  to  all 
ages,  and  second  in  merit,  in  this  respect,  only  to  the  books 
of  Moses,  and  perhaps  some  of  the  oldest  of  the  Vedas. 

But  it  is  as  an  epic  poet  that  he  should  chiefly  be  consid¬ 
ered,  and  in  this  held  he  stands  unrivaled.  No  later 
epicist  has  equaled  him  in  the  inventive  faculty,  and  in 
the  fire  and  energ}  of  his  verse,  while  he  is  equally  beyond 
them  in  the  variety  and  exactness  of  his  character-drawing. 
In  this  respect,  indeed,  he  is  a  master;  his  varied  sketches 
of  Ulys'ses,  Agamem'non,  Achil'les,  Hec'tor,  A'jax,  Nes'- 
tor,  etc.,  rivaling  the  great  dramatic  writers  of  a  subse¬ 
quent  age. 

He  is  dramatic,  also,  in  the  graphic  skill  with  which  he 
spreads  the  field  of  the  poem  before  us,  making  us  rather 
the  excited  spectators  of  its  stirring  incidents  than  quiet 
listeners  to  a  tale  of  adventure. 

If  even  we  are  stirred  by  his  concise  and  graphic  descrip¬ 
tions,  how  must  the  excitable  Greeks  of  that  partly  bar¬ 
barous  age  have  been  roused  by  his  tales  of  battle,  so  full 
of  the  turmoil,  rush  and  terror  of  actual  war,  and  by  the 
vehement  flow  of  the  current  of  his  song,  which  pours 
onward  impetuously  as  a  mountain  torrent,  bearing  every¬ 
thing  forward  on  its  irresistible  flood!  We  can  fancy  them, 
with  their  fervent  belief  in  the  reality  of  the  poet’s  tales, 
springing  excitedly  to  their  feet,  adding  the  clashing  chorus 
of  sword  and  shield  to  the  tones  of  the  singer’s  harp,  and 
drowning  his  song  in  their  wild  shouts  of  approbation,  till 


40  THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 

the  hall  of  minstrelsy  seemed  itself  transformed  into  the 
battle-field  of  the  bard's  warlike  ode. 

# 

The  Od'yssey  has  a  more  quiet  movement.  It  is  the 
mountain  stream  of  the  II'  iad  after  it  has  reached  the  plain 
and  is  spread  out  into  a  broad  and  placid  flood.  Both  are, 
however,  enlivened  by  the  same  apt  and  often  very  beauti¬ 
ful  similes,  and  display  the  same  simplicity  of  diction,  purity 
of  language,  and  skill  in  versification;  though  it  must  be 
admitted  that  in  epic  vigor  and  dignity  of  tone  the  Odyssey 
falls  considerably  short  of  the  Iliad.  This  is  necessitated, 
in  some  measure,  by  the  change  in  character  of  the  story, 
and  possibly,  also,  by  a  difference  in  the  age  of  the  writer. 
Some  authors,  at  least,  perceive  in  the  Iliad  the  impetuous 
youth,  and  in  the  Odyssey  the  placid  old  age,  of  the  poet. 

The  subject  of  the  Ili3.d  is  happily  chosen.  The  tradi¬ 
tional  ten  years’  siege  of  Troy  was,  doubtless,  far  the  most 
stirring  of  the  legendary  tales  cpncerning  the  prehistoric 
Greeks,  and  included,  as  actors  in  its  scenes,  the  most  inter¬ 
esting  of  the  early  heroes  of  the  Hellenic  race.  Homer 
has,  with  true  judgment,  limited  his  poems  to  a  small  por¬ 
tion  of  this  long  siege,  though  probably  the  fifty  days  of 
the  Iliad  include  the  choicest  of  these  legends. 

This  treatment  has  given  him  the  advantage  of  unity  in 
his  subject;  of  one  principal  hero,  namely  Achil'les;  and  of 
a  single  determining  theme  for  the  action  of  the  poem, 
namely,  the  anger  of  this  invulnerable  warrior. 

The  main  cause  of  the  Trojan  war,  the  recovery  of  the 
beautiful  Helen  from  her  abductor  Paris,  the  son  of  Priam, 
becomes  but  one  of  the  various  episodes  of  the  poem.  It 
may  be  well,  however,  to  give  the  previous  history  of  Helen, 
leading  up,  as  it  does,  to  the  most  tragic  climax  in  the 
legends  of  Greece. 

This  most  celebrated  of  beauties  was  of  godlike  extrac¬ 
tion,  being  the  daughter  of  Jupiter  by  Leda.  She  had  two 
brothers,  Castor  and  Pollux,  who  were  alternately  immor- 


HOMER. 


41 


tal,  and  have  been  transferred  to  the  heavens  as  the  con¬ 
stellation  Gemini,  or  the  Twins. 

The  first  notable  event  in  her  history  was  her  abduction 
by  the  hero  The'seus,  who  carried  her  off  to  Attica.  Her 
brothers  made  an  expedition  for  her  recovery,  and  while 
Theseus  was  absent  in  Hades  they  captured  Athens  and 
brought  their  beautiful  sister  back  to  Sparta.  After  this 
return  she  was  courted  by  princely  suitors  from  all  parts 
of  Greece.  She  was  eventually  married  to  Menela'us,  king 
of  Sparta,  her  other  royal  lovers  entering  into  an  agree¬ 
ment  to  mutually  combine  for  her  protection  against  future 
abduction. 

Meanwhile  Paris,  a  son  of  Priam,  of  Troy,  had  been 
given  the  pleasant  task  of  deciding  in  the  contest  for  beauty 
between  the  goddesses  Juno,  Minerva  and  Venus.  He  de¬ 
cided  in  favor  of  the  latter,  who  had  promised  him,  as 
guerdon,  the  possession  of  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world.  In  fulfillment  of  this  promise  she  aided  him  in 
abducting  the  beautiful  wife  of  Menelaus. 

The  next  event  in  the  story  is  the  embassy  of  Menelaus 
and  Ulys'ses  to  Troy.  This  failed  in  its  object  —  the  recov¬ 
ery  of  the  stolen  wife.  And  then  Menelaus,  and  his  brother 
Agamem'non,  called  upon  the  chieftains  of  Greece  to  redeem 
their  pledges  of  assistance. 

This  call  was  not  responded  to  with  alacrity  by  all  the 
princes.  The  shrewd  Ulys'ses,  who  knew  the  peril  of  leav¬ 
ing  his  kingdom  for  an  indefinite  period,  feigned  madness, 
and  was  found  plowing  a  field  with  an  ox  and  an  ass  yoked 
together,  and  sowing  the  furrow  with  salt.  His  ruse,  how¬ 
ever,  was  discovered  by  his  turning  aside  the  plow  when  his 
young  son  Telem'achus  was  laid  in  the  furrow. 

Achilles,  also,  whom  an  oracle  had  destined  to  death  in 
the  Trojan  war,  was  concealed  by  his  mother,  disguised  as 
a  woman,  among  a  bevy  of  fair  maidens.  Ulysses  discov- 
2* 


42 


TIIE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


ered  him  by  the  stratagem  of  laying  in  his  way  the  imple¬ 
ments  of  female  industry  and  the  weapons  of  war.  The 
disguised  hero  chose  the  latter. 

Thus,  one  by  one,  the  malcontents  were  forced  to  keep 
their  pledge,  and  the  Grecian  hosts  sailed  for  Troy.  Dur¬ 
ing  this  voyage  they  were  delayed  by  stress  of  foul  winds, 
which  were  changed  to  fair  by  the  sacrifice  of  Iphigeni'a, 
the  young  daughter  of  Agamemnon,  to  the  opposing  deities. 
And  for  nine  years  the  war  raged,  with  varying  success, 
and  still  Troy  lifted  its  walls  and  towers,  as  yet  impregna¬ 
ble. 

At  this  point  the  story  opens.  Achilles,  the  invulnera¬ 
ble  leader  of  the  Myrmidons,  falls  into  a  furious  rage  with 
Agamemnon,  the  head  of  the  Grecian  hosts,  in  consequence 
of  the  latter  having  robbed  him  of  a  beautiful  captive.  He 
retires  sullenly  to  his  ships,  refuses  to  permit  his  troops  to 
take  part  in  the  war,  and  continues  to  sulk  while  battle 
after  battle  is  progressing  with  varying  fortunes  between 
the  opposing  hosts. 

The  fighting  is  preceded  by  an  episode,  in  which  Helen 
sits  beside  old  Priam,  on  a  watch-tower  of  Troy,  and  names 
to  him  the  Grecian  heroes  as  they  appear  at  the  head  of 
their  hosts  on  the  plains  below.  Ante' nor,  one  of  the  Tro¬ 
jan  chieftains,  describes  some  of  these  heroes,  as  he  remem¬ 
bered  them  when  they  came  to  demand  the  restoration  of 
Helen.  We  give  the  version  by  Lord  Derby. 

“  For  hither,  when  on  thine  account  to  treat, 

Brave  Menelaus  and  Ulysses  came, 

I  lodged  them  in  my  house,  and  loved  them  both, 

And  studied  well  the  mind  and  form  of  each. 

As  they  with  Trojans  mixed  in  social  guise, 

When  both  were  standing,  o’er  his  comrade  high, 

With  broad-set  shoulders,  Menelaus  stood; 

Seated,  Ulysses  was  the  nobler  form. 

Then,  in  the  great  assembly,  when  to  all 
Their  public  speech  and  argument  they  framed, 


HOMER. 


43 


In  fluent  language  Menelaus  spoke, 

In  words,  though  few,  yet  clear;  though  young  in  years, 
No  wordy  babbler,  wasteful  of  his  speech. 

But  when  the  skilled  Ulysses  rose  to  speak, 

With  downcast  visage  would  he  stand,  his  eyes 
Bent  on  the  ground ;  the  staff  he  bore,  nor  back 
He  waved,  nor  forward,  but  like  one  untaught, 

He  held  it  motionless.  Who  only  saw, 

Would  say  that  he  was  mad,  or  void  of  sense; 

But  when  his  chest  its  deep-toned  voice  sent  forth, 

With  words  that  fell  like  flakes  of  wintry  snow, 

No  mortal  with  Ulysses  could  compare; 

Then,  little  recked  we  of  his  outward  show.” 

The  fighting  opens  with  a  duel  between  Paris  and  Mene¬ 
laus,  in  which  the  indignant  husband  of  Helen  so  vigorously 
assails  her  abductor  that  the  latter  is  only  saved  from  death 
by  the  active  intervention  of  Venus.  This  interference  of 
Venus,  and  the  subsequent  slaughter  of  a  Greek  by  an  arrow 
from  the  bow  of  a  Trojan  archer,  breaks  the  truce  which 
had  been  established  while  the  duel  progressed.  There  is 
instant  mustering  of  the  troops,  and  preparations  for  a 
general  battle. 

Old  Nestor,  the  patriarch  of  the  Greeks,  directs  the  for¬ 
mation  of  the  lines,  in  words  which  possess  great  interest, 
as  clearly  showing  the  character  of  military  tactics  in  those 
days  of  the  spear,  the  shield  and  the  chariot. 

“  In  (lie  front  rank,  with  chariot  and  with  horse, 

He  placed  the  mounted  warriors;  in  the  rear, 

Numerous  and  brave,  a  cloud  of  infantry, 

Compactly  massed,  to  stem  the  tide  of  war. 

Between  the  two  he  placed  th’  inferior  troops, 

That  e’en  against  their  will  they  needs  must  tight. 

The  horsemen  first  he  charged,  and  bade  them  keep 
Their  horses  well  in  hand,  nor  wildly  rush 
Amid  the  tumult.  1  See,’  he  said,  ‘  that  none, 

In  skill  or  valor  overconfident, 

Advance  before  his  comrades,  nor  alone 


44 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Retire;  for  so  your  lines  are  easier  forced; 

But  ranging  each  beside  a  hostile  car, 

Thrust  with  your  spears;  for  such  the  better  way. 

By  men  so  disciplined,  in  elder  days, 

Were  lofty  walls  and  fenced  towers  destroyed.’  ” 

— Derby 

The  lines  thus  arrayed,  and  the  hosts  meeting,  face  to 
face  and  hand  to  hand,  the  first  day’s  battle  bursts  with  an 
individual  fury  scarcely  known  in  modern  warfare.  Espe¬ 
cially  Di'omed,  one  of  the  Grecian  leaders,  becomes  the 
hero  in  this  day’s  fight,  ranging  the  field  with  unequaled 
fortune  and  fury,  slaying  Trojans  by  the  score,  and  finally 
engaging  with  the  great  iEne'as,  who  has  advanced  to  meet 
him.  Diomed  breaks  the  thigh  of  this  mighty  chieftain 
with  a  huge  stone,  and  would  have  slain  him  outright  but 
that  Venus,  whose  son  iEneas  is,  again  interferes,  and  bears 
the  wounded  warrior  from  the  field. 

But  the  furious  Greek,  whose  e.yes  have  been  opened  by 
another  of  the  deities  to  the  recognition  of  Venus,  vigor¬ 
ously  pursues,  and  even  succeeds  in  wounding,  the  immortal 
Queen  of  Love  with  his  impious  spear.  We  give  this  scene, 
as  showing  the  grotesque  nature  of  the  constant  interference 
of  the  Gods  in  this  affray. 

“  Her,  searching  through  the  crowd,  at  length  he  found, 

And  springing  forward,  with  liis  pointed  spear 
A  wound  inflicted  on  her  tender  hand, 

Piercing  tli’  ambrosial,  the  Graces’  work, 

The  sharp  spear  grazed  the  palm  below  the  wrist. 

Forth  from  the  wound  th’  immortal  current  flowed, 

Pure  ichor,  life  stream  of  the  blessed  Gods; 

They  eat  no  bread,  they  drink  no  ruddy  wine, 

And  bloodless  thence  and  deathless  they  become. 

The  Goddess  shrieked  aloud,  and  dropped  her  son ; 

But  in  his  arms  Apollo  bore  him  off, 

In  a  thick  cloud  enveloped,  lest  some  Greek 
Might  pierce  his  breast,  and  rob  him  of  his  life. 

Loud  shouted  brave  Tydi'des,  as  she  fled, 


HOMER. 


45 


‘Daughter  of  Jove,  from  battle-fields  retire; 

Enough  for  thee  weak  women  to  delude; 

If  war  thou  seekest,  the  lesson  thou  shalt  learn 
Shall  cause  thee  shudder  but  to  hear  it  named.’ 

Thus  he,  but  ill  at  ease  and  sorely  pained, 

The  Goddess  fled ;  her  Iris,  swift  as  wind, 

Caught  up,  and  from  the  tumult  bore  away, 

Weeping  with  pain,  her  fair  skin  soiled  with  blood.” 

—  Derby. 

And  with  a  ridiculous  continuation  of  this  story,  the  fair 
Goddess  of  Love  is  shown  hiding  her  weeping  face,  like  a 
hurt  child,  in  the  lap  of  Father  Jove,  and  sarcastically 
taunted  by  herdady  enemies  upon  Olympus. 

In  the  next  scene  Hector,  the  most  noted  of  the  Trojan 
heroes,  arms  to  aid  his  countrymen  in  their  disasters,  and 
takes  leave  of  his  wife  Androm'ache  and  his  son,  in  a  scene 
which  has  excited  general  admiration.  We  append  the  pas¬ 
sage,  in  the  epigrammatic  version  of  Pope. 

“Thus  having  spoke,  th’  illustrious  chief  of  Troy 
Stretched  his  fond  arms  to  clasp  the  lovely  boy; 

The  babe  clung  crying  to  his  nurse’s  breast, 

Scared  at  the  dazzling  helm  and  nodding  crest. 

With  secret  pleasure  each  fond  parent  smiled, 

And  Hector  hastened  to  relieve  his  child, — 

The  glittering  terrors  from  his  brows  unbound, 

And  placed  the  beaming  helmet  on  the  ground, 

Then  kissed  the  child,  and  lifted  high  in  air, 

Thus  to  the  Gods  preferred  a  father’s  prayer: 

‘  O  thou,  whose  glory  fills  the  ethereal  throne, 

And  all  ye  deathless  powers!  protect  my  son; 

Grant  him,  like  me,  to  purchase  just  renown, 

To  guard  the  Trojans,  to  defend  the  town, 

Against  his  country’s  foes  the  war  to  wage, 

And  rise  the  Hector  of  the  future  age. 

So  when  triumphant  from  successful  toils 
Of  heroes  slain  he  bears  the  reeking  spoils, 

Whole  hosts  may  hail  him  with  deserved  acclaim, 

And  say,  This  chief  transcends  his  father’s  fame, — 


40 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


While,  pleased  amid  the  general  shouts  of  Troy, 

His  mother’s  conscious  heart  o’crflows  with  joy.’ 

He  spoke,  and  fondly  gazing  on  her  charms, 

Restored  the  pleasing  burden  to  her  arms. 

Soft  on  her  fragrant  breast  the  babe  she  laid, 

Hushed  to  repose,  and  with  a  smile  surveyed; 

The  troubled  pleasure  soon  chastised  by  fear, 

She  mingled  with  the  smile  a  tender  tear; 

The  softened  chief  with  kind  compassion  viewed, 

And  dried  the  falling  tears.” 

Hector’s  appearance  turns  the  tide  of  battle  in  favor  of 
the  Trojans.  Jupiter  has  strictly  forbidden  the  Gods  to  in¬ 
terfere,  and  the  Trojan  hosts,  in  the  second  day’s  fight,  drive 
the  Greeks  back  to  their  ships,  and  almost  force  them  to 
take  flight  by  sea  from  their  victorious  foes. 

The  Trojans  bivouac  upon  the  field.  This  night-watch 
the  poet  describes  in  a  beautiful  piece  of  word  painting,  of 
which  we  append  Tennyson’s  charming  translation. 

“As  when  in  heaven  the  stars  about  the  moon 
Look  beautiful,  when  all  the  winds  are  laid, 

And  every  height  comes  out,  and  jutting  peak 
And  valley,  and  the  immeasurable  heavens 
Break  open  to  their  highest,  and  all  the  stars 
Shine,  and  the  shepherd  gladdens  in  his  heart; 

So,  many  a  tire  between  the  ships  and  stream 
Of  Xanthus  blazed  before  the  towers  of  Troy, 

A  thousand  on  the  plain;  and  close  by  each 
Sat  fifty  in  the  blaze  of  burning  fire; 

And,  champing  golden  grain,  the  horses  stood 
Hard  by  their  chariots,  waiting  for  the  dawn.” 

At  this  perilous  juncture  in  the  affairs  of  the  Greeks, 
Achilles  listens  to  the  prayer  of  his  friend  Patro'clus,  lends 
him  his  armor,  and  permits  him  to  lead  the  Myrmidons  to 
the  field.  By  such  a  timely  reinforcement  the  tide  of  battle 
is  turned,  and  the  Trojans  are  driven  back  in  the  next  day’s 
fight  with  great  slaughter. 


I 


HOMEE.  47 

But  the  contest  ends  in  the  death  of  Patroclus  by  the 
hands  of  Hector,  and  the  capture  of  the  armor  of  Achilles. 

And  now,  at  length,  the  sullen  hero  is  roused  to  action. 
New  armor  being  forged  for  him  by  Vulcan, —  with  a 
wonderful  shield,  which  is  minutely  described, —  he  takes 
the  held  in  person.  From  that  moment  the  fortunes  of  war 
turn  sadly  against  the  Trojans.  Having  escaped  from  the 
deluging  waters  of  the  river  Scamander, —  which,  as  an  in¬ 
dignant  god,  pursues  and  attempts  to  overwhelm  the  scorn¬ 
ful  hero,  who  has  choked  its  stream  with  corpses, —  he  makes 
great  slaughter  of  the  foe,  and  at  length  meets  and  slays 
Hector,  the  youthful  bulwark  of  Troy. 

This  fatal  disaster  to  the  cause  of  Priam,  in  the  death  of 
his  so  far  invincible  son,  concludes  the  poem,  which  ends 
with  a  detail  of  the  funeral  obsequies  of  the  slain  Patroclus, 
and  of  the  redemption  and  funeral  of  the  body  of  Hector. 

The  Odyssey  takes  up  the  story  of  the  adventures  of 
Ulysses,  the  shrewdest  of  the  Grecian  leaders,  during  his 
long  and  dangerous  voyage  home  from  the  Trojan  war. 
Though  covering  the  incidents  of  years,  it  is  skillfully 
limited  in  time  by  introducing  the  account  of  the  marvelous 
sea-voyage  of  the  hero  in  the  form  of  an  episodical  narra¬ 
tive.  This  gives  us  in  dramatic  form  manv  odd  and  curious 
superstitions  of  the  Greeks,  and  their  grotesque  notions  con¬ 
cerning  the  inhabitants  of  the  Mediterranean  islands. 

The  poem  opens  with  an  account  of  the  condition  of 
affairs  at  Ith'aca,  the  island  kingdom  of  Ulysses,  where  his 
castle  is  occupied,  and  his  substance  wasted,  by  a  throng 
of  insolent  suitors  of  his  faithful  wife  Penel'ope.  His 
son  Telem'achus  complains  of  this  before  the  council  of 
the  lords,  but  obtains  no  redress.  He  next,  under  orders 
from  the  Gods,  sets  sail  for  Pylus  and  Sparta,  to  inquire 
of  Nestor  and  Menelaus  as  to  the  fate  of  his  father. 

He  finds  the  latter  living  with  his  recovered  wife  Helen, 
in  a  magnificent  castle,  richly  ornamented  with  gold,  silver 


48 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


and  bronze;  and  learns  from  him  that  his  father  is  detained 
by  the  nymph  Calyp'so  in  the  island  of  Ogy'gia. 

Meanwhile  Mercury,  the  messenger  of  the  Gods,  has 
been  dispatched  to  command  the  nymph  to  give  up  her 
rather  willing  captive.  Leigh  Hunt  lias  very  prettily 
translated  the  description  of  the  island,  as  visited  by  this 
swift  speeding  messenger. 

“And  now  arriving  at  the  isle,  be  springs 
Oblique,  and  landing  with  subsided  wings, 

Walks  to  the  cavern  ’mid  the  tall,  green  rocks, 

Where  dwelt  the  Goddess  with  the  lovely  locks. 

He  paused;  and  there  came  on  him  as  he  stood 
A  smell  of  cedar  and  of  citron  wood, 

That  threw  a  perfume  all  about  the  isle; 

And  she  within  sat  spinning  all  the  while, 

And  sang  a  low,  sweet  song  that  made  him  hark  and  smile. 
A  sylvan  nook  it  was,  grown  round  with  trees, 

Poplars  and  elms,  and  odorous  cypresses, 

In  which  all  birds  of  ample  wing,  the  owl 

And  hawk  had  nests,  and  broad-tongued  water-fowl. 

The  cave  in  front  was  spread  with  a  green  vine, 

Whose  dark,  round  bunches  almost  burst  with  wine; 

And  from  four  springs,  running  a  sprightly  race, 

Four  fountains  clear  and  crisp  refreshed  the  place; 

While  all  about  a  meadowy  ground  was  seen 
Of  violets  mingling  with  the  parsley  green.” 

Commanded  by  Mercury,  the  nymph  reluctantly  sets 
Ulysses  adrift  upon  a  raft  of  trees.  But  Neptune,  the 
persistent  foe  of  our  hero, — not  having  been  present  at  the 
council  of  the  Gods,  through  his  absence  in  Ethiopia  upon 
some  private  business  of  his  own, —  now  first  learns  of  its 
result,  and  raises  a  storm  that  scatters  the  raft  of  the  float¬ 
ing  navigator.  Ulysses  succeeds,  however,  with  the  aid  of 
a  sea-nymph,  in  swimming  ashore  to  the  island  Phaea'cia. 

Here  he  is  rescued  by  Nausic'aa,  the  king’s  daughter, 
and  brought  to  her  father’s  palace.  King  Alcin'ous  wel- 


HOMER. 


49 


comes  him  with  a  sentiment  which  does  honor  to  his  royal 
heart: 

“The  stranger  and  the  poor  are  sent  by  Jove.” 

This  monarch  dwells  in  a  sumptuous  abode,  which  is 
warmly  described. 

“  For  like  the  sun’s  fire,  or  the  moon’s,  a  light 

Far  streaming  through  the  liigli-roofed  house  did  pass 
From  the  long  basement  to  the  topmost  height, 

There  on  each  side  ran  walls  of  flaming  brass, 

Zoned  on  the  summit  with  a  bright,  blue  mass 
Of  cornice ;  and  the  doors  were  framed  of  gold ; 

Where,  underneath  the  brazen  floor  doth  glass 
Silver  pilasters,  which  with  grace  uphold 
Lintel  of  silver  framed;  the  ring  was  burnished  gold. 

And  dogs  on  each  side  of  the  door  there  stand, 

Silver  and  gold,  the  which  in  ancient  day 
Hephaestus  wrought,  with  cunning  brain  and  hand, 

And  set  for  sentinels  to  hold  the  way. 

Death  cannot  tame  them,  nor  the  years  decay; 

And  from  the  shining  threshold  thrones  were  set, 

Skirting  the  walls  in  lustrous  long  array, 

On  to  the  far  room  where  the  women  met, 

With  many  a  rich  robe  strewn,  and  woven  coverlet,” 

—  Wort  ley. 

Having  excited  the  curiosity  of  King  Alcinous  by  his 
prowess  in  wrestling  and  other  games,  Ulysses  proceeds  to 
satisfy  him  by  an  account  of  his  adventures. 

He  tells  of  the  encounter  of  himself  and  companions 
with  the  one-eyed  giant  Polyphe'mus,  who  makes  his  break¬ 
fast  and  supper  on  the  fattest  of  the  Greeks,  while  the 
rest  escape  by  boring  out  his  single  eye,  and  clinging 
under  his  long-wooled  sheep.  They  touch  also  at  the 
land  of  the  Lotus  Eaters,  to  whose  magic  some  of  the 
Greeks  yield. 

“  For  whoso  tasted  of  their  flowery  meat 

Cared  not  with  tidings  to  return,  but  clave 
3 


50 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Fast  to  that  tribe,  forever  fain  to  eat, 

Reckless  of  home  return,  the  tender  lotus  sweet.” 

—  Worsley. 

Another  serious  danger  is  met  in  the  island  of  Cir'ce, 
the  enchantress,  by  whom  several  of  the  companions  of 
Ulysses  are  converted  into  swine.  But  the  hero  proves 
too  shrewd  for  this  interesting  lady,  and  conquers  her  in 
turn.  After  spending  some  time  in  her  pleasant  society, 
he,  under  her  directions,  visits  the  realms  of  the  departed, 
and  raises  a  host  of  the  shades  of  the  dead,  among  whom 
come  his  mother,  Achilles,  and  other  old  friends. 

The  departed  hero  of  the  Iliad  does  not  seem  to  enjoy  his 
present  quarters,  and  gives  a  description  of  the  condition 
of  the  Greek  ghost  not  likely  to  be  alluring  to  the  living 
Greeks.  The  Hellenic  ideas  of  the  future  state  were  very 
crude,  and  certainly  not  at  all  attractive.  Achilles  seems 
to  consider  a  living  dog  as  better  than  a  dead  lion,  when  he 
says : 

“  Noble  Ulysses,  speak  not  thus  of  death 
As  if  thou  wouldst  console  me.  I  would  be 
A  laborer  on  earth,  and  serve  for  hire 
Some  man  of  mean  estate,  who  makes  scant  cheer, 

Rather  than  reign  o’er  all  who  have  gone  down 
To  death.”  — Bryant. 

The  next  adventure  of  our  navigators  is  their  escape 
from  the  grisly  dangers  of  Scyl'la  and  Chary  b'dis.  They 
are  also  entertained  by  the  wind-god  ATolus,  who  gives 
them  a  fair  wind  for  their  voyage  home,  and  the  remainder 
of  the  winds  tied  up  in  a  bag.  But  the  restless  curiosity 
of  the  Greeks  is  not  satisfied  till  they  have  opened  this  bag, 
while  Ulysses  is  sleeping,  and  set  free  all  the  winds.  In 
consequence  they  are  blown  back  to  the  island  of  Aeolus, 
who  indignantly  refuses  to  receive  them. 

They  afterward  kill  the  sacred  oxen  of  the  Sun,  for 
which  sacrilege  they  are  wrecked,  and  all  lost,  save  Ulysses, 


HOMER. 


51 


who  has  a  nine  days1  float  on  a  mast  to  the  island  of  Calyp'so. 
With  this  charming  immortal  he  resides  seven  years. 

The  next  scene  in  the  story  brings  us  to  Ithaca,  where 
Ulysses  has  been  landed  by  the  Phaea' cians.  Here  the  god¬ 
dess  Pallas  transforms  him  in  appearance  to  an  old  beggar, 
and  instructs  him  what  course  to  pursue.  Thus  disguised 
he  is  entertained  by  Eumse'us,  his  master  of  the  swine,  to 
whom  comes  Telemachus,  on  his  way  home,  having  escaped 
the  plot  laid  by  his  mother's  suitors  for  his  destruction. 

Making  himself  known  to  his  son,  Ulysses  is  brought  into 
the  palace,  where  the  insolent  suitors  are  at  their  revels. 
The  poet  here  introduces  an  exquisite  touch  of  nature. 
Among  all  present  the  long-absent  wanderer  is  recognized 
only  by  his  old  dog  Argus,  who  staggers  to  his  feet,  feebly 
expresses  his  joy  in  his  master’s  return,  and  falls  dead. 

“And  when  he  marked  Ulysses  on  the  way, 

And  could  no  longer  to  his  lord  draw  near, 

Fawned  with  his  tail,  and  drooped  in  feeble  play 
His  ears.  Ulysses,  turning,  wiped  a  tear.” 

Meanwhile  preparations  are  being  made  by  Telemachus 
for  the  overthrow  of  the  suitors,  all  arms  being  quietly 
removed  from  the  hall.  In  the  next  scene  Penelope  brings 
forth  the  bow  of  Ulysses,  offering  her  hand  to  him  among 
the  suitors  who  can  bend  it.  One  by  one  they  strive  in 
vain  with  the  stubborn  ash.  But  the  disguised  hero  bends 
it  with  ease,  and  with  wonderful  skill  sends  an  arrow 
whizzing  through  the  rings  of  a  row  of  twelve  .axes  set  up 
in  line. 

Then  follows  a  scene  as  exciting  and  warlike  as  the  bat¬ 
tle  scenes  of  the  Iliad. 

“  Stript  of  his  rags  then  leaped  the  godlike  King 
On  the  great  threshold,  in  his  hand  the  bow, 

And  quiver  filled  with  arrows  of  mortal  sting. 

These  with  a  rattle  he  rained  down  below, 


52 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Loose  at  liis  feet,  and  spake  among  them  so; 

‘See!  at  the  last  our  matchless  bout  is  o’er! 

Now  for  another  mark,  that  I  may  know 

If  I  can  hit  what  none  hath  hit  before, 

And  if  Apollo  heed  me  in  the  prayer  I  pour.” 

—  Worsley. 

The  indignant  lord  of  the  castle  turns  his  bow  now  with 
deadly  effect  upon  the  suitors,  the  arrows  whizzing  among 
them  with  death  upon  every  shaft.  He  is  ably  seconded  by 
Telemachus  and  Eumseus.  and  an  awful  scene  of  terror  and 
bloodshed  ensues,  the  insulted  dignity  of  the  husband  being 
fearfully  avenged  in  the  terrible  death  of  his  enemies. 

The  story  ends  in  the  hero  making  himself  known  to  his 
faithful  wife,  Penelope,  and  his  old  father,  Laertes,  in  the 
defeat  of  the  friends  of  the  wooers,  and  the  full  recovery  of 
his  kingdom  by  its  long-absent  lord. 

There  are  numerous  translations  of  the  works  of  Homer 
which  possess  very  various  degrees  of  merit;  though  it  is 
conceded  that  the  full  spirit  and  character  of  the  original 
has  not  yet  been  reproduced. 

The  principal  English  translations  are  the  spirited 
though  imperfect  one  of  Chapman,  the  elegant  but  mod¬ 
ernized  version  of  Pope,  and  the  blank-verse  translations 
of  Cowper,  of  the  Earl  of  Derby,  and  of  our  American 
poet  Bryant. 

Of  foreign  translations  the  most  noted  is  that  by  Voss 
into  German  hexameters,  which  reproduction  of  the  Ho¬ 
meric  versification  has  been  performed  with  wonderful 
skill. 


HE'SIOD. 

FLOURISHED  ABOUT  850  B.C. 

This  writer,  the  second  Greek  author  whose  works  have 
descended  to  us,  is  as  obscure,  so  far  as  chronology  is  con¬ 
cerned;  as  Homer,  though  the  events  of  his  life  are  much 


HESIOD. 


53 


better  known.  His  period,  like  that  of  Homer,  is  placed  at 
about  850  n.o.,  and  with  as  little  substantial  reason.  As  to 
which  of  these  two  authors  preceded  the  other  in  point  of 
time  there  is  nothing  known,  Hesiod  having  as  stable  a 
claim  as  Homer  to  be  considered  the  earliest  of  the  classic 
writers. 

In  the  character  of  his  works  he  deviates  widely  from 
Homer,  and  possesses,  in  common  with  him,  the  merit  of 
establishing  a  special  school  of  literature.  This  field,  how¬ 
ever,  like  the  field  of  the  warlike  epic,  may  have  been  cul¬ 
tivated  by  many  previous  authors,  these  earliest  extant 
writers  reaping  the  harvests  sown  by  their  vanished  prede¬ 
cessors. 

However  that  be,  Hesiod  is  markedly  original  in  style, 
ignoring  the  sanguinary  struggles  of  the  heroic  age  and 
preferring  to  sing  of  gentler  themes.  He  is  emphatically 
the  poet  of  peace,  treating  of  such  homely  subjects  as  the 
pursuits  of  the  husbandman,  the  holiness  of  domestic  life, 
the  duty  of  economy,  the  education  of  youth,  and  the  details 
of  commerce  and  politics.  Indeed,  he  tells  us  that  he  was 
first  instigated  to  the  pursuit  of  poetry  by  a  vision,  in 
which  the  Muses  appeared  to  him  and  commanded  him  to 
write  “  the  poetry  of  truth.” 

Although  some  of  his  countrymen  scornfully  termed 
him  “the  poet  of  slaves,”  in  comparison  with  Homer,  “the 
delight  of  warriors,”  yet  to  our  less  warlike  dispositions 
his  writings  indicate  a  distinct  advance  in  civilization  and 
morality  over  the  trumpet-like  strains  of  the  Iliad. 

In  language  and  versification  Hesiod  and  the  poets  of 
his  school  do  not  differ  essentially  from  Homer,  but  are 
antagonistic  in  theme  and  treatment,  the  beauties  of  peace 
in  their  pages  being  contrasted  with  the  clash  of  swords 
and  shields  in  the  strains  of  the  warlike  epics.  So  far  as 
poetic  merit  is  concerned,  his  works  do  not  challenge  any 
high  estimation,  though  they  possess  the  virtue  of  sim- 


54 


TIIE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


plicity,  so  characteristic  of  early  writers.  They  were  held 
in  great  veneration  by  the  Greeks,  his  theologic  writings  in 
particular  being  highly  valued,  and  viewed  as  authorities 
in  the  Hellenic  cosmogony. 

The  poet  himself  gives  us  many  points  in  his  personal 
history,  detailing  the  emigration  of  his  father  from  Kyme, 
in  Asia  Minor,  where  he  had  with  difficulty  made  a  living, 
to  Ascra,  in  Boeo'tia.  This  the  poet  describes  as  a  cold, 
barren  country,  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Helicon.  We  will 
give  the  account  in  his  own  words,  as  translated  by  Elton. 

“O  witless  Perses,  thus  for  honest  gain, 

Thus  did  our  mutual  father  plow  the  main. 

Erst  from  vEolian  Cy'me’s  distant  shore 
Hither  in  sable  ship  his  course  he  bore; 

Through  the  wide  seas  his  venturous  way  he  took, 

No  revenues,  nor  prosperous  ease  forsook. 

His  wandering  course  from  poverty  began, 

The  visitation  sent  from  Heaven  to  man. 

In  Ascra’s  wretched  hamlet,  at  the  feet 
Of  Helicon,  he  fixed  his  humble  seat; 

Ungenial  clime,  in  wintry  cold  severe, 

And  summer  heat,  and  joyless  through  the  year.” 

Modern  travelers  have  not  found  the  region  of  Helicon 
so  bleak,  and  it  is  possible  that  our  author  was  affected  by 
nursery  tales  of  the  delights  of  the  ancestral  home  when 
drawing  this  picture  of  the  drear  Boeotian  realm.  He  was 
himself  born  in  Ascra,  and  seems  at  first  to  have  been  a 
poor  peasant,  or  herdsman.  He  afterward  went  to  Or- 
chonTenos,  on  Lake  Cop'ais,  where  the  remainder  of  his 
life  was  passed.  It  was  an  uneventful  life,  being  princi¬ 
pally  occupied  in  poetic  labors.  He  tells  us  of  but  one 
journey,  in  which  he  went  to  take  part  in  a  poetic  contest. 
This,  like  Homer’s  description  of  the  bard  at  the  court  of 
King  Alcinous,  is  of  interest  as  showing  us  to  what  extent 
poetry  was  cultivated  at  that  period. 


HESIOD. 


55 


The  works  ascribed  to  Hesiod  are  seven  in  number,  of 
which  the  most  important  are  the  “Works  and  Days,”  the 
“Theogony,”  or  “Generations  of  the  Gods,”  and  the  “Cata¬ 
logues  of  Women,”  of  which  the  well  known  “Shield  of 
Hercules”  is  supposed  to  be  a  fragment. 

The  Works  and  Days  is  essentially  didactic  in  tone, 
being  a  sort  of  farmers’  chronicle,  in  which  he  tells  when 
to  plant  and  how  to  reap,  describes  the  form  and  the 
use  of  plows,  explains  grape  gathering  and  wine  making, 
gives  a  list  of  lucky  and  unlucky  days,  and  enlivens  the 
whole  with  stories,  which  are  introduced  somewhat  at  ran¬ 
dom  into  the  text.  We  give  an  extract  from  the  interest¬ 
ing  episode  of  Pandora  and  her  celebrated  box. 

“The  Sire  who  rules  the  earth  and  sways  the  pole 
Had  said,  and  laughter  tilled  his  secret  soul : 

He  bade  the  crippled  god  his  best  obey, 

And  mould  with  tempering  water  plastic  clay; 

With  human  nerve  and  human  voice  invest 
The  limbs  elastic  and  the  breathing  breast; 

Fair  as  the  blooming  goddesses  above, 

A  virgin’s  likeness,  with  the  looks  of  love. 

He  bade  Minerva  teach  the  skill  that  sheds 
A  thousand  colors  in  the  gliding  threads; 

He  called  the  magic  of  love’s  holy  queen 
To  breathe  around  a  witchery  of  mien, 

And  eager  passion’s  never-sated  flame, 

And  cares  of  dress,  that  prey  upon  the  frame ; 

Adored  Persuasion,  and  the  Graces  young, 

Her  tapered  limbs  with  golden  jewels  hung; 

Round  her  fair  brow  the  lovely  tressed  Hours 
A  golden  garland  twined  of  spring’s  purpureal  flowers. 

.  .  .  The  woman’s  hands  an  ample  casket  bear; 

She  lifts  the  lid  —  she  scatters  ills  in  air. 

Hope  still  remained  within,  nor  took  her  flight, 

Beneath  the  casket’s  verge  concealed  from  sight.” — Elton. 

The  Works  and  Days  seems  especially  written  for  the 
edification  of  his  brother  Perses,  to  whom  he  constantly 


56 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE, 


appeals,  pointing  out  to  him  the  blessings  of  honest  con¬ 
tentment  as  compared  with  the  worries  of  an  idle  life. 
This  brother  seems  to  have  been  a  sharp-dealing  and 
worthless  fellow,  who  gave  our  poet  a  mint  of  trouble. 
He  takes  delight  in  idling  about  the  courts  of  law,  instead 
of  engaging  in  industrial  pursuits,  and  applies  his  knowl¬ 
edge  of  the  law  to  litigate  his  poet  brother  out  of  his  portion 
of  their  father’s  estate,  after  having  previously  secured  to 
himself  the  lion’s  share. 

It  is  surprising  to  see,  from  the  Cimmerian  gloom  of 
early  Greece,  so  much  emerging  that  still  exists  in  our 
modern  civilizations.  Appeals  to  the  law  and  the  doubt¬ 
fulness  of  justice,  the  difficulties  of  making  a  living,  the 
active  pursuit  of  agriculture,  busy  commerce  in  all  sea¬ 
ports,  and  the  dim  remoteness  of  the  age  of  gold. 

The  following  is  the  recipe  of  the  poet  for  wine  making. 

“The  rosy-fingered  morn  the  vintage  calls; 

Then  bear  the  gathered  grapes  within  thy  walls, 

Ten  days  and  nights  exposed  the  clusters  lay, 

Basked  in  the  radiance  of  each  mellowing  day. 

Let  five  their  circling  round  successive  run, 

While  lie  the  grapes  o’ershadowed  from  the  sun; 

The  sixth  express  the  harvest  of  the  vine, 

And  teach  the  vats  to  foam  with  joy-inspiring  wine.” 

— Elton. 

Another  illustration,  full  of  homely  wisdom,  we  append 
from  Chapman’s  spirited  version. 

“Make  then  thy  man-swain  one  that  hath  no  house; 

Thy  handmaid  one  that  hath  nor  child  nor  spouse; 
Handmaids  that  children  have  are  ravenous. 

A  mastiff,  likewise  nourish  still  at  home, 

Whose  teeth  arc  sharp  and  close  as  any  comb, 

And  meat  him  well,  to  keep  with  stronger  guard 
The  day-sleep-night-wake-man  from  forth  thy  yard.” 

The  Theogony,  which  many  critics  deny  to  be  a  genuine 
work  of  Hesiod,  though,  as  it  appears,  without  any  suffi- 


HESIOD. 


57 


cient  reason,  was  greatly  esteemed  by  priests  and  philoso¬ 
phers,  being  considered  the  highest  authority  on  questions 
of  mythology.  Numerous  commentaries  were  written  on 
it  by  the  Alexandrian  philosophers. 

This  work  collects  together  the  many  flying  shreds  of 
mythologic  legend  with  which  the  memories  of  the  people 
were  doubtless  filled,  and  weaves  them  into  a  sort  of  con¬ 
secutive  story  of  the  earliest  creation,  and  of  the  geneal¬ 
ogies  and  quarrels  of  the  Gods,  down  to  the  final  triumph 
of  Zeus.  Or'pheus  and  Musse'us,  according  to  tradition, 
had  written  Theogonies,  of  which  Hesiod  may  have  availed 
himself.  However  that  be,  he  has  done  his  work  with 
great  skill,  and  with  an  epic  vigor  which  at  times  rises 
to  a  high  poetic  strain. 

His  work  is  a  complete  storehouse  of  the  origin  and 
doings  of  the  Gods,  the  terrible  warfare  between  Jupiter 
and  the  giants,  and  the  birth  of  the  various  deities,  down 
to  the  very  river  and  wood  nymphs  of  the  godlike  line.  Of 
the  first  appearance  of  Aphrodi'te  he  very  beautifully  says: 

— “Where  her  delicate  feet 

Had  pressed  the  sands,  green  herbage  flowering  sprang, 
Love  tracked  her  steps,  and  beautiful  Desire 
Pursued.”  '  — Frere. 

But  it  is  in  his  battle  scenes  that  he  rises  to  a  vigor  and 
graphic  energy  that  rival  Homer.  Many  of  his  descrip¬ 
tions  prefigure  Milton’s  “  warfare  in  heaven,”  and  seem  to 
have  lent  suggestions  to  the  later  bard.  Thus: 

“  All  ou  that  day  roused  infinite  the  war,  * 

Female  and  male;  the  Titan  deities, 

The  gods  from  Cronus  sprung,  and  those  whom  Zeus 
From  subterranean  gloom  released  to  light; 

Terrible,  strong,  of  force  enormous;  burst 
A  hundred  arms  from  all  their  shoulders  huge; 

From  all  their  shoulders  fifty  heads  upsprang 
O’er  limbs  of  sinewy  mould.  They  then  arrayed 


58 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Against  the  Titans  in  full  combat  stood, 

And  in  their  nervous  grasp  wielded  aloft 

Precipitous  rocks.  On  the  other  side  alert 

The  Titan  phalanx  closed :  then  hands  of  strength 

Joined  prowess,  and  displayed  the  works  of  war, 

Tremendous  then  the  immeasurable  sea 

Roared ;  earth  resounded ;  the  wide  heaven  throughout 

Groaned  shattering;  from  its  base  Olympus  vast 

Reeled  to  the  violence  of  the  Gods;  the  shock 

Of  deep  concussion  rocked  the  dark  abyss 

Remote  of  Tartarus;  the  shrilling  din 

Of  hollow  tramplings,  and  strong  battle  strokes, 

And  measureless  uproar  of  wild  pursuit.” — Elton. 

And  in  like  strain  the  war  goes  on,  till  Zeus  overwhelms 
the  Titans  with  his  lightnings  and  imprisons  them  in  a 
deep  abyss,  at  whose  gate  stand  sentry  Day  and  Night,  in 
alternate  watchfulness;  Night  aided  by  her  sons  Death  and 
Sleep.  This  strongly  reminds  us  of  the  grisly  guardians 
of  Hell’s  gate,  in  Milton’s  poem. 

Hesiod’s  “  Shield  of  Hercules  ”  describes  a  fierce  fight 
of  the  hero  with  a  robber  named  Cvcnus,  in  which,  of 
course,  Hercules  bore  off  the  honors.  The  shield  of  the 
hero  is  described  with  a  close  detail  equaling  that  of  the 
memorable  description  of  the  shield  of  Achilles  by  Homer. 

Throughout  the  works  of  Hesiod  are  numerous  bits  of 
proverbial  philosophy,  the  adages  extant  before  his  time, 
and  which  he  worked  into  his  poems  in  the  manner  of  all 
primitive  authors.  We  subjoin  a  few  specimens  of  this 
proverbial  wisdom  of  the  early  Greeks. 

“  Hard  work  will  best  uncertain  fortune  mend.” 

“  Ever  with  loss  the  putter-off  contends.” 

“  When  on  your  home  falls  unforeseen  distress, 

Half  clothed  come  neighbors;  kinsmen  stay  to  dress.” 


THE  EARLY  LYRIC  POETS. 


In  the  development  of  human  thought,  reflection  follows 
observation.  Men’s  eyes,  so  long  taken  captive  by  the  won¬ 
ders  and  charms  of  the  exterior  world,  at  length  turn  in¬ 
ward  upon  their  own  mental  world,  viewing  its  varied 
phenomena. 

Epic  poetry  is,  in  its  general  sense,  the  poetry  of  obser¬ 
vation,  relating  the  deeds  of  men,  the  phenomena  of  nature, 
the  fables  of  primitive  theology.  The  lyric,  in  the  same 
general  sense,  is  the  poetry  of  reflection,  describing  the 
thoughts  of  men  and  the  changeful  processes  of  the  human 
mind. 

The  epicist  deals  with  things  and  events  in  the  third 
person;  the  lyricist  in  the  first  person.  It  is  the  ego  that 
occupies  his  attention  —  Land  the  influence  of  the  world 
upon  me  as  a  thinking  being.  Whatever  his  subject,  we 
perceive  himself  always  in  the  foreground;  the  living,  sub¬ 
jective  being,  to  whom  all  things  besides  are  subordinate. 
The  epicist,  on  the  contrary,  stands  in  the  background, 
unseen,  the  hidden  relator  of  events  with  which  himself  is 
no  more  nearly  concerned  than  the  rest  of  mankind. 

Necessarily,  then,  the  lyric  is  of  later  development  than 
the  epic,  and  is  significant  of  a  fuller  unfoldment  of  man’s 
mentality.  The  first  barren  chronicles  of  events,  and  dis¬ 
connected  cosmogonies,  are  followed  by  poetic  imaginings, 
weaving  these  legends  and  superstitions  into  connected  nar¬ 
ratives  and  theogonies,  gradually  adorned  with  all  the 
graces  of  language  and  imagery.  Next,  men  begin  to 
record  their  own  reflections,  and  to  sing  the  thoughts  which 
spring  like  unbidden  flowers  in  the  human  mind;  and  the 
lyric  is  born. 


59 


60 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


There  are  many  early  specimens  extant  of  this  phase  of 
poetic  thought;  particularly  in  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  in 
which  a  high  degree  of  lyrical  fervor  is  reached  by  many  of 
the  prophets  of  Israel.  We  may  instance  Jeremiah,  Eze¬ 
kiel,  Isaiah,  David  and  Solomon. 

For  how  long  a  period  the  lyric  may  have  been  culti¬ 
vated  in  Greece  we  know  no  more  than  we  know  of  the 
origin  of  the  epic.  There  were  probably  many  public 
minstrels,  whose  works  have  been  lost,  and  whose  first  rude 
strains  gradually  took  on  the  polish  and  finish  which  we 
find  in  the  songs  of  Archil' ochus,  the  earliest  extant  lyricist. 

The  name  of  Calli'nus  has  been  handed  down  as  the 
originator  of  elegiac  poetry  ;  but  the  first  name  which 
comes  to  us,  sufficiently  fortunate  to  be  accompanied  by 
illustrative  remains,  is  that  of  Archilochus,  who  is  viewed 
in  Greek  literature  as  the  father  of  lyric  poetry. 

ARCHIL' OCHUS. 

FLOURISHED  ABOUT  700  B.C. 

This  author,  who  takes  up  the  thread  of  literature  from 
one  to  two  centuries  after  it  was  dropped  by  Homer  and 
Hesiod,  was  a  native  of  Paros,  in  Lydia. 

But  few  glimpses  remain  of  his  life,  and  these  few  not 
greatly  to  his  credit.  Thus,  as  we  are  told,  in  a  battle 
with  the  Thracians,  he  lost  his  shield  in  the  contest,  or 
threw  it  away  that  it  might  not  impede  his  flight,  as  his 
enemies  declare.  Subsequently  he  was  banished  from  Sparta; 
some  say,  because  he  had  vindicated  his  conduct  in  running 
away  from  the  fight;  others  say,  on  account  of  the  licen¬ 
tiousness  of  his  verse.  He  afterward  returned  to  his  native 
town,  and  took  part  in  a  war  which  ensued,  in  which  he 
lost  his  life,  either  in  battle  or  by  assassination. 

As  a  poet  he  ranks  very  high,  being  classed  by  the 
ancients  with  Homer.  They  dedicated  the  statues  of  both 


ARCHILOCHUS. 


61 


on  the  same  day,  and  even  placed  the  head  of  Archilocnus  on 
the  same  bust  with  that  of  Homer.  The  few  fragments  of 
his  poetry  which  are  yet  extant  give  us  no  proper  means  of 
deciding  how  far  this  lofty  estimation  was  justly  applied; 
but  the  general  verdict  of  antiquity  must  be  accepted  as 
evidence  of  marked  ability. 

His  style  is  praised  by  the  ancients  for  its  novelty,  va¬ 
riety,  and  satirical  bitterness.  This  latter  quality,  in  fact, 
seems  to  have  been  a  distinguishing  characteristic  of  his 
works,  “  Archilochian  bitterness”  having  become  a  byword 
in  ancient  Greece.  His  enemies  he  assailed  without  mercy, 
maliciously  satirizing  their  most  sensitive  points,  and  taking 
the  sting  from  their  counter-accusations  of  cowardice  by  him¬ 
self  humorously  describing  the  loss  of  his  shield  in  battle. 

“Rejoice,  some  Saian,  who  my  shield  may  find, 

Which  in  some  hedge,  unhurt,  I  left  behind. 

Farewell  my  shield ;  now  I  myself  am  free* 

I’ll  buy  another,  full  as  good  as  thee.” 

One  story,  which  strikingly  shows  the  unbounded  violence 
of  his  satire,  is  that  Lycam'bes,  a  citizen  of  Paros,  who  had 
broken  his  promise  to  give  his  daughter  Neobu'le  in  mar¬ 
riage  to  the  poet,  w'as  so  bitterly  assailed  that  both  father 
and  daughter  were  driven  to  suicide  to  escape  this  merciless 
ridicule. 

Judging,  however,  from  the  very  high  position  assigned 
him,  this  vehemence  of  satire  could  not  have  been  the 
whole  of  his  merit,  but  must  have  been  combined  with  a 
lofty  degree  of  poetic  skill.  The  extant  fragments  of  his 
poetry,  in  fact,  display  only  a  philosophic  spirit,  with  no 
indications  of  satire. 

He  is  the  reputed  inventor  of  Iambic  verse,  the  word 
Iambus  being  employed  before  his  time  to  denote  a  species 
of  rude  raillery,  to  which  the  inspiration  of  the  Bacchic 
and  other  festivals  gave  rise.  These  irregular  forms  of 
verse  he  first  reduced  to  fixed  rules.  We  subjoin  a  few  of 
his  remaining  verses. 


THE1  LITERATURE  OP  GREECE. 

!  f 

ON  AN  ECLIPSE  OF  THE  SUN. 

“Nought  now  can  pass  belief;  in  Nature’s  ways 
No  strange  anomaly  our  wonder  raise. 

Th’  Olympian  Father  hangs  a  noon-day  night 
O’er  the  sun’s  disk,  and  veils  its  glittering  light. 

Fear  falls  on  man.  Hence  miracles  before 
Incredible,  are  counted  strange  no  more. 

Stand  not  amazed  if  beasts  exchange  the  wood 
With  dolphins;  and  exist  amidst  the  flood; 

These  the  firm  land  forsake  for  sounding  waves, 

And  these  find  pleasure  in  the  mountain  caves.” — Elton. 

EQUANIMITY. 

“Spirit,  thou  Spirit,  like  a  troubled  sea, 

Ruffled  with  deep  and  hard  calamity, 

Sustain  the  shock:  a  daring  heart  oppose: 

Stand  firm,  amidst  the  charging  spears  of  foes: 

If  conquering,  vaunt  not  in  vain-glorious  show ; 

If  conquered,  stoop  not,  prostrated  in  woe: 

Moderate,  in  joy,  rejoice;  in  sorrow,  mourn: 

Muse  on  man’s  lot;  be  thine  discreetly  borne.” — Elton. 

EXHORTATION  TO  FORTITUDE  UNDER  CALAMITY. 

“Groans  rise  on  griefs,  O  Pericles!  nor  they 
Who  feed  the  woe,  in  wine  or  feast  are  grey. 

The  billow  of  the  many-roaring  deep 

Has  borne  these  pleasures  in  its  whelming  sweep. 

Our  grief-swollen  hearts  now  draw  their  breath  in  vain; 
Yet  blessings,  O  my  friend!  will  smile  again. 

The  Gods  reserve  for  seeming-cureless  woe 
A  balm,  and  antidotes  on  grief  bestow. 

In  turn  the  cure  and  suffering  take  their  round, 

And  we  now  groaning  feel  the  bleeding  wound; 

Now  other  breasts  the  shifting  tortures  know; 

Endure;  nor  droop  thus  womanish  in  woe.” — Elton. 

THE  STORM. 

“Behold,  my  Glaucus!  how  the  deep 

Heaves,  while  the  sweeping  billows  howl ; 

And  round  the  promontory-steep 

The  big  black  clouds  portentious  scowl, 


TYRTvEUS. 


63 


With  thunder  fraught,  and  lightning  glare, 

While  terror  rules,  and  wild  despair.”  — Merimle. 

THE  MIND  OF  MAN. 

“The  mind  of  man  is  such  as  Jove 
Ordains  by  his  immortal  will ; 

He  moulds  it,  in  the  courts  above, 

His  heavenly  purpose  to  fulfill.” — Merimle. 

TWO  MILITARY  PORTRAITS. 

“Boast  me  not  your  valiant  captain, 

Strutting  fierce  with  measured  stride, 
Glorying  in  his  well-trimmed  beard,  and 
Wavy  ringlets’  clustered  pride. 

Mine  be  he  that’s  short  of  stature, 

Firm  of  foot,  with  curved  knee ; 

Heart  of  oak  in  limb  and  feature, 

And  a  courage  bold  and  free.” — Merimle. 


TYRTvE'US.  * 

FLOURISHED  ABOUT  685  B.C. 

Tyrtae'us,  the  second  of  the  lyric  poets,  was  in  part  the 
contemporary  of  Archilochus.  Like  all  the  poets  whom  we 
have  so  far  considered,  he  appears  in  a  new  field,  being 
celebrated  for  his  political  elegies  and  marching  songs. 

His  history  lies  hidden  under  the  same  cloud  of  past 
time  which  obscures  the  lives  of  all  these  early  writers, 
more  fable  than  truth  showing  through  the  mist  of  oblivion. 
According  to  one  account,  he  was  a  native  of  Attica,  while 
another  tradition  makes  him  a  Lacedaemonian. 

The  story  goes  that  the  Spartans,  humiliated  in  their  war 
with  the  Messenians,  applied  to  the  Delphic  oracle  to  learn 
how  they  might  become  successful.  The  oracle  replied  that 
the  Messenians  would  continue  to  triumph  until  the  Spar¬ 
tans  headed  their  troops  with  an  Athenian  general. 


64 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


With  a  bitter  swallowing  of  their  pride,  the  haughty 
Spartans  obeyed  the  oracle,  and  applied  to  Athens  for  a 
leader.  The  Athenians  sent  them,  in  derision,  it  is  said, 
though  we  know  not  why,  the  poet  Tyrtaeus  as  the  leader  of 
their  armies. 

Whatever  was  the  purpose  of  the  Athenians,  he  rendered 
the  Lacedaemonians  most  efficient  service,  stilling  their  dis¬ 
cords  at  home  with  his  elegies,  and  rousing  their  spent 
courage  with  his  w^ar  lyrics,  till,  inspired  to  ardor  by  the 
stirring  songs  of  their  poet  leader,  they  became  everywhere 
victorious,  reducing  the  Messenians  to  complete  submission 
and  servitude.  The  following  is  one  of  his  war  elegies. 

“  Not  on  the  lips,  nor  yet  in  memory’s  trace 
Should  that  man  live,  though  rapid  in  the  race, 

And  firm  in  wrestling;  though  Cyclopean  might 
Be  his,  and  fleetness  like  a  whirlwind’s  flight; 

Though  than  Titho'nus  lovelier  to  behold; 

Like  Cin'arus,  or  Mi'das,  graced  with  gold; 

Thau  Pe'lop’s  realm  more  kingly  his  domain; 

More  sweet  his  language  than  Adras'tus’  strain; 

Not  though  he  boast  all  else  of  mortal  praise, 

Yet  want  the  glory  of  the  warrior’s  bays. 

He  is  not  brave  who  not  endures  the  sight 
Of  blood ;  nor,  man  to  man,  in  closest  fight, 

Still  pants  to  press  the  foe;  here  bravery  lies; 

And  here  of  human  fame  the  cliiefest  prize. 

Firm  and  unyielding  when  the  arnnkl  man 
Still  presses  on,  and  combats  in  the  van, 

He  breaks  the  bristling  phalanx  from  afar; 

His  foresight  rules  the  floating  wave  of  war; 

Fallen  in  the  foremost  ranks,  he  leaves  a  name, 

His  father’s  glory,  and  his  country’s  fame. 

Old  men  and  youths  let  fall  the  sorrowing  tear, 

And  a  whole  people  mourns  around  his  bier. 

But  if,  escaping  the  long  sleep  of  death, 

He  wins  the  splendid  battle’s  glorious  wreath, 

Him,  with  fond  gaze,  gray  sires  and  youths  behold, 

And  life  is  pleasant,  till  his  days  are  old.” — Elton. 


TYRT^EUS. 


65 


Contemporary  with  these  were  several  poets  of  less  fame, 
yet  each  of  whom,  as,  in  fact,  all  the  early  Greek  writers, 
of  whose  works  we  possess  examples,  can  claim  the  honor 
of  originating  a  special  school  of  poetry.  Such  was  the 
activity  of  the  Hellenic  mind  at  his  epoch,  that,  with  rapid 
succession,  it  originated  and  excelled  in  every  form  of 
poetical  literature. 

The  poets  in  question  were  Terpan'der,  Ale' man  and 
Stesich'orus.  Of  these,  Terpan'der  invented  the  gay  and 
festive  kind  of  lyric  poetry.  He  is  credited  with  having 
gained  the  musical  prize  in  many  successive  contests.  He 
was  not,  however,  highly  esteemed  by  posterity,  and  we  are 
unable  to  judge  of  his  merits,  as  his  works  have  all  per¬ 
ished.  Ale' man  was  a  native  of  Sardis;  was  a  man  of  very 
amorous  disposition;  was  the  earliest  writer  of  love  songs, 
and  is  thought  to  have  been  the  first  to  introduce  the  prac¬ 
tice  of  singing  them  in  public.  The  fragment  which  fol¬ 
lows  is  nearly  the  whole  of  his  poetic  remains  : 

TO  MEGALOSTRATA. 

“Again  sweet  love,  by  Venus  led, 

Hath  all  my  soul  possessed; 

Again  delicious  rapture  slied 
In  torrents  o’er  my  breast. 

Now,  Megalostra'ta  the  fair, — 

Of  all  the  virgin  train 
Most  blessed, —  with  her  yellow  hair, — 

Hath  brought  me  to  the  Muse’s  fane.” — Merivcile. 


Stesich'orus,  a  native  of  Sicily,  is  said  to  have  received 
this  name  from  being  the  first  to  teach  the  chorus  to  dance 
to  the  lyre.  Hence  the  strophe,  antistrophe,  and  epode  of 
the  chorus  became  associated  throughout  Greece  with  his 
name.  He  has  been  extravagantly  praised  by  ancient 
writers,  but  of  all  his  works  only  a  few  scattered  fragments 
have  been  preserved.  We  give  the  following  specimens. 

3* 


60 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 

THE  PROCESSION. 

“Before  the  regal  chariot,  as  it  passed, 

Were  bright  Cyclonian  apples  scattered  round, 

And  myrtle  leaves,  in  showers  of  fragrance  cast, 

And  many  a  wreath  was  there  with  roses  bound, 

And  many  a  coronal,  wherein  were  set, 

Like  gems,  rich  rows  of  purple  violet.” — Merivale. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

“  Vain  it  is  for  those  to  weep 
Who  repose  in  death’s  last  sleep. 

With  man’s  life  ends  all  the  story 
Of  his  wisdom,  wit,  and  glory.” — Langliorne. 

i 

i 

ALCiE'US. 

FLOURISHED  ABOUT  6t0  B.C. 

This  poet,  one  of  the  most  famous  of  the  lyric  writers  of 
Greece,  owes  the  subjects  of  his  poems,  if  not  his  poetic  inspi¬ 
ration,  to  the  misfortunes  of  his  country,  and  to  the  active 
career  into  which  he  was  forced  by  the  troubles  of  his  times. 

He  was  a  native  of  Mitylene,  in  the  island  of  Lesbos, 
and  took  part  in  the  civil  war  which  arose;  being  at  first 
on  the  side  of  Pittacus  (one  of  the  seven  wise  men  of 
Greece),  in  his  overthrow  of  a  tyrannical  oppressor  of  his 
native  city.  When,  however,  Pittacus  seemed,  in  his  turn, 
to  become  tyrannical,  Alcaeus  opposed  him.  Being  banished 
from  the  city,  he  attempted  to  force  his  way  back,  at  the 
head  of  a  band  of  exiles.  He  was  taken  prisoner  in  this 
effort,  but  his  life  was  spared  by  Pittacus,  who  seems  indeed, 
despite  his  autocratic  rule,  to  have  been  as  worthy  as  he 
was  “  wise.” 

The  odes  of  Alcaeus,  written  in  the  iEolian  dialect,  are 
chiefly  invectives  against  tyrants,  and  mournful  lamenta¬ 
tions  over  the  troubles  of  his  native  land,  and  his  sorrows 
as  an  exile.  He  also  sings,  in  a  more  festive  spirit,  the 
praises  of  love  and  wine. 


ALCiEUS. 


67 


He  invented  a  form  of  verse  known,  after  him,  as  the 
Alcae'ic,  which  was  happily  imitated  by  Horace,  and  intro¬ 
duced  by  him  into  the  Latin  tongue.  He  is  said  to  have 
been  an  admirer  of  Sappho,  of  whom  he  was  a  contem¬ 
porary.  Of  the  ten  books  of  odes  ascribed  to  him,  only 
fragments  remain. 

CONVIVIAL. 

“Why  wait  we  for  the  torches’  lights? 

Now  let  us  drink,  while  day  invites. 

In  mighty  flagons  hither  bring 

The  deep-red  blood  of  many  a  vine, 

That  we  may  largely  quaff,  and  sing 
The  praises  of  the  God  of  Wine, 

The  son  of  Jove  and  Semele, 

Who  gave  the  jocund  grape  to  be 
A  sweet  oblivion  to  our  woes. 

Fill,  fill  the  goblet  —  one  and  two: 

Let  every  brimmer,  as  it  flows, 

In  sportive  chase,  the  last  pursue.” — Merivale. 

POVERTY. 

“The  worst  of  ills,  and  hardest  to  endure, 

Past  hope,  past  cure, 

Is  Penury,  who,  with  her  sister  mate 
Disorder,  soon  brings  down  the  loftiest  state, 

And  makes  it  desolate. 

This  truth  the  sage  of  Sparta  told, 

Aristode'mus  old, — 

‘  Wealth  makes  the  man.’  On  him  that’s  poor 
Proud  Worth  looks  down,  and  Honor  shuts  the  door.” 

—  Merivale. 

THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  A  STATE. 

“What  constitutes  a  State? 

Not  high-raised  battlement,  nor  labored  mound, 

Thick  wall  or  moated  gate: 

Not  cities  fair,  with  spires  and  turrets  crowned: 

No; — Men,  high-minded  men, — 

With  powers  as  far  above  dull  brutes  endued 


68 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 

In  forest,  brake,  or  den, 

As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude  — 

Men,  who  their  duties  know, 

But  know  their  rights,  and,  knowing,  dare  maintain; 

Prevent  the  long-aimed  blow, 

And  crush  the  tyrant  while  they  rend  the  chain.” 

—  Sir  Win.  Jones. 


SAPPHO. 

FLOURISHED  ABOUT  (500  B.C. 

This  writer,  so  celebrated  in  the  past  for  the  richness 
and  passionate  fire  of  her  lyric  genius,  of  which  we  have 
evidence  in  the  few  existing  fragments,  may  also  claim 
celebrity  from  the  fact  that  she  stands  first  among  the  few 
women  who  attained  to  literary  eminence,  and  won  a  place 
among  the  renowned  writers  of  Greece. 

Of  her  genius,  Coleridge  observes  that  “  the  very  shreds 
remaining  of  her  works  seem  enough  to  prove  her  the 
greatest  of  lyric  poets  after  Pindar/’ 

She  was  a  native  of  either  Mitylene  or  Eresos,*  in  the 
island  of  Lesbos,  the  birthplace  of  Alcseas,  who  is  credited 
with  having  been  a  warm  suitor  of  the  fair  poetess.  Ac¬ 
cording  to  Aristotle,  he  took  an  opportunity  to  declare  his 
passion  in  the  following  couplet. 

“  Fain  would  I  speak,  but  must,  through  shame,  conceal 
The  thought  my  eager  tongue  would  soon  reveal.” 

To  which  Sappho  immediately  replied: 

“  Were  your  request,  O  bard  !  on  honor  built, 

Your  cheeks  would  not  have  worn  those  marks  of  guilt; 

But  in  prompt  words  the  ready  thoughts  had  flown, 

And  your  heart’s  honest  meaning  quickly  shown.” 

♦“The  native  place  of  Sappho,  the  poetess,  was  Mitylene;  while  that  of 
Sappho,  the  courtesan,  was  Eresos.  The  fame  of  the  one  and  the  infamy  of 
the  other  became  blended  in  history  from  the  identity  of  name,  and  from  the 
circumstance  of  Mitylene  and  Eresos  being  towns  in  the  same  island.”  Page  11 
of  Mary  Cowden  Clarke's  World  Noted  Women. 


SAPPHO. 


69 


She  was  soon  after  married  to  another  suitor,  but  losing 
her  husband,  and  growing  weary  of  Mitylene,  she  is  said 
to  have  repaired  to  Athens,  which  then  held  out  every 
encouragement  to  genius.  The  tradition  goes  that  she 
fell  in  love  with  Phaon,  a  youthful  attendant  upon  the 
Athenian  court.  This  youth,  not  returning  her  passion, 
left  Athens  for  Sicily,  whither  the  poetess  followed  him. 
Finally,  driven  to  desperation  by  his  coldness,  she  is  said 
to  have  thrown  herself  from  the  Leuca'dian  promontory, 
the  celebrated  “  Lovers’  Leap  ”  of  Greece.  From  this  lofty 
rock,  as  the  story  goes,  lovers  were  in  the  habit  of  casting 
themselves  into  the  sea,  and  were  either  drowned  or  came 
out  drenched,  bruised  —  and  cured.  Sappho  made  the  dan 
gerous  leap  and  was  drowned. 

This  story,  however,  is  believed  to  be  an  invention  of 
later  times,  there  being  almost  nothing  known  of  her  real 
history.  She  is  also  credited  with  having  established,  at 
Mitylene,  a  poetic  coterie,  composed  of  females,  her  own 
pupils  in  the  lyric  art. 

No  ancient  poet  was  more  highly  esteemed  than  Sappho. 
The  Mitylenians  paid  sovereign  honors  to  her  name,  gave 
her  the  title  of  the  “Tenth  Muse,”  and  placed  her  image  on 
their  coins.  Even  the  Romans,  centuries  afterward,  erected 
and  inscribed  to  her  name  a  magnificent  porphyry  statue. 

Only  a  few  fragments  of  her  poetry  remain.  We  give 
the  following,  which  has  been  highly  praised  as  displaying 
accurately  the  symptoms  of  the  passion  of  love.  It  is  sup¬ 
posed  to  be  addressed  by  a  lover  to  the  lady  beloved. 

“  More  happy  Ilian  the  Gods  is  he 
Who,  soft  reclining,  sits  by  lliee; 

His  ears  tliy  pleasing  talk  beguiles, 

His  eyes  thy  sweetly  dimpled  smiles. 

This,  this,  alas!  alarmed  my  breast, 

And  robbed  me  of  my  golden  rest, 


70 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


While  gazing  on  thy  charms  I  hung, 

My  voice  died  faltering  on  my  tongue. 

With  subtle  flames  my  bosom  glows, 

Quick  through  each  vein  the  poison  flows; 
Dark  dimming  mists  my  eyes  surround; 

My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  sound. 

My  limbs  with  dewy  chillness  freeze, 

On  my  whole  frame  pale  tremblings  seize, 
And,  losing  color,  sense,  and  breath, 

I  seem  quite  languishing  in  death.” — Fawkes. 

HYMN  TO  VENUS. 

“O  Venus,  beauty  of  the  skies! 

To  whom  a  thousand  altars  rise, 

Gayly  false  in  gentle  smiles, 

Full  of  love-perplexing  Aviles, 

O  Goddess,  from  my  heart  remove 
The  wasting  cares  and  pains  of  love. 

If  ever  thou  hast  kindly  heard 
A  song  in  soft  distress  preferred, 

Propitious  to  my  tuneful  vow, 

O  gentle  Goddess,  hear  me  now. 

Descend,  thou  bright  immortal  guest, 

In  all  thy  radiant  charm  confest. 

Thou  once  did  leave  almighty  Jove, 

And  all  the  golden  roofs  above; 

The  car  thy  wanton  sparrows  drew; 

Hovering  in  air  they  lightly  flew; 

As  to  my  bower  they  winged  their  way, 

I  saw  their  quivering  pinions  play. 

The  birds  dismissed  (while  you  remain), 

Bore  back  the  empty  car  again ; 

Then  you,  with  looks  divinely  mild, 

In  every  heavenly  feature  smiled, 

And  asked  what  new  complaints  I  made, 
And  why  I  called  thee  to  my  aid? 

What  frenzy  in  my  bosom  raged? 

And  by  what  care  to  be  assuaged  ? 


SAPPHO. 


71 


What  gentle  youth  I  would  allure? 

Whom  in  my  artful  toils  secure? 

‘  Who  does  thy  tender  heart  subdue  ? 

Tell  me,  my  Sappho,  tell  me  who! 

‘  Though  now  he  shuns  thy  longing  arms, 

He  soon  shall  court  thy  slighted  charms; 

Though  now  thy  offerings  he  despise, 

He  soon  to  thee  shall  sacrifice; 

Though  now  he  freeze,  he  soon  shall  burn, 

And  be  thy  victim  in  his  turn.’ 

Celestial  visitant,  once  more 
Thy  needful  presence  I  implore! 

In  pity  come  and  ease  my  grief, 

Bring  my  distempered  soul  relief; 

Favor  thy  suppliant’s  hidden  fires, 

And  give  me  all  my  heart  desires.”  — Phillips. 


The  following 

o 

her  poems: 


are  some  of  the  remaining 

O 


TO  THE  ROSE. 


fragments  of 

O 


“  Did  Jove  a  queen  of  flowers  decree, 

The  rose  the  queen  of  flowers  should  be. 
Of  flowers  the  eye;  of  plants  the  gem; 
The  meadow’s  blush;  earth’s  diadem; 
Glory  of  colors  on  the  gaze, 

Lightning  in  its  beauty’s  blaze; 

It  breathes  of  love;  it  blooms  the  guest 
Of  Venus’  ever-fragrant  breast; 

In  gaudy  pomps  its  petals  spread ; 

Light  foliage  trembles  round  its  head; 
With  vermeil  blossoms  fresh  and  fair 
It  laughs  to  the  voluptuous  air.” 


TO  VENUS. 

“Venus,  queen  of  smiles  and  love, 
Quit,  oh!  quit  the  skies  above; 
To  my  lowly  roof  descend, 

At  the  mirthful  feast  attend; 
Hand  the  golden  goblet  round, 
With  delicious  nectar  crowned ; 


72 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


None  blit  joyous  friends  you’ll  see, 

Friends  of  Venus  and  of  me.” — Fawkes. 

Erinna,  another  Mitylenian  poetess,  was  a  contemporary 
of  Sappho,  and  is  said  to  have  been  her  intimate  friend. 
She  was  highly  esteemed,  rivaling  Homer  himself,  so  we 
are  told,  in  hexameter  verse. 

There  is  ascribed  to  her  a  fine  “  Ode  to  Rome,” — which, 
however,  was  most  probably  of  later  origin, —  and  one 
or  two  well-written  epitaphs.  No  well-attested  example 
of  her  poetry  remains  in  existence. 

ANA'CREON. 

BORN  558  B.C. 

This  poet,  whose  genius,  “  like  good  wine,  needs  no 
bush,”  was  a  native  of  Teos,  in  Ionia.  He  was  of  good 
family,  and  learned  in  all  the  learning  of  his  time.  Flying 
from  the  Persian  invaders  of  Asia  Minor,  he  sailed,  with 
many  of  his  .countrymen,  to  Thrace,  where  a  settlement 
was  formed. 

But  as  the  war,  which  arose  between  the  Greek  colonists 
and  the  Thracians,  rendered  life  in  that  land  uncomforta¬ 
ble,  Anacreon,  who  had  already  become  famous  as  a  poet, 
accepted  the  invitation  of  Polyc' rates,  tyrant  of  Samos,  and 
lived  luxuriously  at  that  monarch’s  court.  After  the  death 
of  Polycrates  he  was  invited  to  Athens,  the  state  galley 
being  sent  as  a  special  mark  of  honor  to  convey  him  thither. 
Here  some  of  his  finest  odes  were  written;  but  his  habits 
of  inebriety  so  increased  as  to  unfit  him  for  aught  but 
voluptuous  enj oyment. 

He  died  in  the  eighty-fifth  year  of  his  age;  being 
choked,  according  to  Suidas,  by  a  grape-stone  in  some 
new  wine  he  was  drinking.  The  Athenians  so  greatly 
admired  his  genius  that  they  erected  to  him  an  imposing 
statue,  which  was,  however,  dedicated  more  to  his  habits 


ANACREON. 


73 


than  to  his  genius,  since  it  represented  him  as  an  old  man 
in  a  state  of  intoxication. 

Few  poets  have  been  more  the  delight  of  readers,  both 
ancient  and  modern,  than  Anacreon.  Scaliger,  a  distin¬ 
guished  German  critic,  speaks  of  his  verses  as  “  sweeter  than 
Indian  sugar.”  The  French  critic  Rapin  says  of  him: 
“  The  odes  of  Anacreon  are  flowers,  beauties  and  perpetual 
graces.'  It  is  familiar  to  him  to  write  what  is  natural 
unto  life;  he  having  an  air  so  delicate,  so  easy,  and  so 
graceful,  that  among  all  the  ancients  there  is  nothing  com¬ 
parable  to  the  method  he  took,  nor  to  the  kind  of  writing 
he  followed.” 

The  remains  of  his  poems  are  more  numerous  than  are 
those  of  any  of  his  contemporaries,  and  consist  of  Odes,  Epi¬ 
grams  and  Elegies.  We  give  the  following  specimens. 

CUPID  WOUNDED. 

“  Once  as  Cupid,  tired  with  play, 

On  a  bed  of  roses  lay, 

A  rude  bee,  that  slept  unseen 
The  sweet-breathing  buds  between, 

Stung  his  finger,  cruel  chance! 

With  his  little  pointed  lance. 

Straight  he  tills  the  air  with  cries, 

Weeps  and  sobs,  and  runs  and  flies; 

Till  the  god  to  Venus  came, 

Lovely,  laughter-loving  dame; 

Then  he  thus  began  to  plain: 

‘  Oh !  undone  —  I  die  with  pain  — 

Dear  mamma,  a  serpent  small, 

Which  a  bee  the  ploughmen  call, 

Imp’d  with  wings,  and  arm’d  with  dart, 

Oh!  has  stung  me  to  the  heart.’ 

Venus  thus  replied,  and  smiled: 

‘  Dry  those  tears,  for  shame !  my  child ; 

If  a  bee  can  wound  so  deep, 

Causing  Cupid  thus  to  weep, 

Think,  Oh,  think!  what  cruel  pains 
He  that’s  stung  by  thee  sustains!’” — Faickes, 


74 


THE  LITERATURE  OP  GREECE. 


THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  WINE. 

“When  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep, 

Every  sorrow’s  lulled  to  sleep; 

Talk  of  monarchs!  I  am  then 
Richest,  happiest,  first  of  men; 

Careless  o’er  my  cup  I  sing, 

Fancy  makes  me  more  than  king. 

Give  me  wealthy  Croesus’  store, 

Can  I,  can  I  wish  for  more? 

On  my  velvet  couch  reclining, 

Ivy  wreaths  my  brow  entwining, 

While  my  soul  dilates  with  glee, 

What  are  kings  and  crowns  to  me? 

If  before  my  feet  they  lay, 

I  would  spurn  them  all  away. 

Arm  you!  arm  you!  men  of  might; 

Hasten  to  the  sanguine  fight; 

Let  me,  O  my  budding  vine! 

Spill  no  other  blood  than  thine; 

Yonder  brimming  goblet  see, 

That  alone  shall  vanquish  me; 

Oh!  I  think  it  sweeter  far 

To  fall  in  banquet  than  in  war.” — T.  Moore. 

CUPID  SWALLOWED. 

“As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers, 

To  cull  a  wreath  of  matin  flowers, 

Where  many  an  early  rose  was  weeping 
I  found  the  urchin  Cupid  sleeping. 

I  caught  the  boy;  a  goblet’s  tide 
Was  richly  mantling  by  my  side; 

I  caught  him  by  his  downy  wing, 

And  whelmed  him  in  the  racy  spring; 

Oh!  then  I  drank  the  poisoned  bowl, 

And  Love  now  nestles  in  my  soul. 

Yes,  yes,  my  soul  is  Cupid’s  nest, 

I  feel  him  fluttering  in  my  breast.” — Moore. 

YOUTH  AND  AGE. 

“Fly  not  thou  my  brow  of  snow; 

Lovely  wanton,  fly  not  so; 


SIMONIDES. 


75 


Though  the  wane  of  age  is  mine, 

Though  the  brilliant  flush  is  thine, 

Still  I’m  doomed  to  sigh  for  thee  — 

Blest  if  thou  couldst  sigh  for  me. 

See,  in  yonder  flowering  braid, 

Culled  for  thee,  my  blushing  maid, 

How  the  rose  of  orient  glows, 

Mingled  with  the  lily’s  snows; 

Mark  how  sweet  their  tints  agree, 

Just,  my  girl,  like  thee  and  me.” — Moore. 

m 

SIMON' IDES. 

BORN  556  B.C, 

Contemporary  with  Anacreon  were  two  other  poets  of 
distinguished  merit,  the  three  forming  the  most  remark¬ 
able  trio  of  lyric  poets  that  any  country  ever  simulta¬ 
neously  produced.  Simonides  and  Pindar,  however,  differed 
essentially,  in  their  style  and  choice  of  subjects,  from  the 
gay,  rollicking,  wine-loving,  yet  soft  and  delicate  Anacreon. 

Simonides  is  always  serious  and  impressive,  while  Pindar 
indulges  in  daring  flights  toward  the  sublime  to  which  no 
other  ancient  lyricist  ever  approached. 

Simonides  was  born  in  the  island  of  Ce'os.  Of  his 
family  and  early  life  we  know  nothing.  For  some  time 
he  conducted  a  school,  for  the  purpose  of  preparing  the 
youth  of  distinguished  families  to  take  part  in  the  public 
choruses,  which  were  employed  in  religious  exercises.  He 
soon  afterward  removed  to  Athens,  whither  his  fame  had 
preceded  him,  and  was  there  received  with  every  mark 
of  honor  and  distinction. 

Athens  was,  at  that  period,  the  center  of  all  the  literary 
excellence  of  Greece,  and  our  poet  found  there  Anacreon, 
Pindar,  and  many  other  eminent  authors,  enjoying  the 
patronage  of  the  splendid  court  of  Hippar'chus. 

After  the  death  of  Hipparchus  he  spent  some  time  at 
the  court  of  Sco'pas,  tyrant  of  Thessaly,  and  passed  the 


70 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


last  years  of  bis  life  with  Hi'ero,  tyrant  of  Syracuse,  at 
whose  court  he  died  at  the  age  of  ninety-one. 

He  has  been  accused  of  great  avarice;  for  which  his 
own  excuse  was  that  he  would  rather  leave  a  fortune  to 
his  enemies  at  his  death  than  be  compelled  through  poverty 
to  seek  assistance  from  his  friends  while  living. 

His  works  consisted  chiefly  of  Elegies,  Odes,  Epigrams 
and  Laments,  the  chief  characteristics  of  his  poetry  being 
sweetness,  expression  and  elaborate  finish,  with  no  effort 
at  sublimity.  His  elegies  have  a  tone  of  melancholy  pathos 
that  render  them  strikingly  similar  to  the  strains  of  the 
Prophet  Jeremiah,  while  his  odes  have  more  tenderness 
than  energy.  Only  limited  fragments  of  his  works  remain, 
of  which  we  give  the  following  examples. 

THE  MISERIES  OF  LIFE. 

“Jove  rules  the  world,  and  with  resistless  sway, 

Demands  to-morrow  wliat  he  gave  to-day; 

In  vain  our  thoughts  to  future  scenes  we  cast, 

Or  only  read  them  darkly  in  the  past; 

For  Hope  enchanting  points  to  new  delights, 

And  charms  with  dulcet  sounds  and  heavenly  sights. 
Expecting  yet  some  fancied  bliss  to  share, 

We  grasp  at  bubbles  that  dissolve  in  air, 

And  some  a  day  and  some  whole  years  await 
The  whims  and  chances  of  capricious  fate; 

Nor  yet  the  lovely  visions  are  possest  — 

Another  year  remains  to  make  them  blest, 

While  age  steals  on  to  sweep  their  dreams  away, 

And  grim  diseases  hover  round  their  prey. 

Our  very  sweets  possess  a  secret  harm, 

Teem  with  distress,  and  poison  while  they  charm. 

The  fatal  Sisters  hover  round  our  birth, 

And  dash  with  bitter  dregs  our  cup  on  earth; 

Yet  cease  to  murmur  at  thy  fate  in  vain, 

And  in  oblivion  steep  the  shaft  of  pain.” — Bland. 


SIMONIDES. 


77 


VIRTUE. 

“  Virtue  in  legend  old  is  said  to  dwell 
On  high  rocks,  inaccessible; 

But  swift  descends  from  high, 

And  haunts  of  virtuous  men  the  chaste  society. 

No  man  shall  ever  rise 
Conspicuous  in  his  fellow  mortals’  eyes 
To  manly  virtue’s  pinnacle, 

Unless  within  his  soul  he  bear 
The  drops  of  painful  sweat  that  slowly  well 
From  spirit-wasting  thought,  and  toil,  and  care.” 

— Elton . 


ON  ANACREON. 

“Bland  mother  of  the  grape!  All-gladdening  wine! 

Teeming  inebriate  joy!  whose  tendrils  blown 
Crisp-woven  in  winding  trail,  now  green  entwine 
This  pillar’s  top,  this  mount,  Anacreon’s  tomb. 

As  lover  of  the  feast,  th’  untempered  bowl, 

While  the  full  draught  was  reeling  in  his  soul, 

He  smote  upon  the  harp,  whose  melodies 

Were  tuned  to  girlish  loves,  till  midnight  tied; 

Now,  fall’n  to  earth,  embower  him  as  he  lies, 

Thy  purpling  clusters  blushing  o’er  his  head; 

Still  be  fresh  dew  upon  the  branches  hung, 

Like  that  which  breathed  from  his  enchanting  tongue.” 

—Hay. 

Simonides  is  also  celebrated  for  his  epitaphs.  There  is 

one  in  particular,  on  the  dead  who  fell  at  Thermopylae, 

of  which  Christopher  North  said:  “  It  is  but  two  lines, 

but  all  Greece  for  centuries  had  them  bv  heart.  She 

•/ 

forgot  them  and  ‘  Greece  was  living  Greece  no  more.’  ” 
We  give  this  noted  epitaph. 

“  Go  tell  the  Spartans,  thou  who  passest  by, 

That  here,  obedient  to  their  laws,  we  lie,” 


78 


TIIE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


PIN'DAR. 

BORN  522  B.C. 

The  third  of  the  great  lyric  trio  of  Greece  was  a  native 
of  Boeotia,  and  was  born  either  at  Thebes  or  at  a  neighbor¬ 
ing  village  called  Cynoceph'alae.  Tradition  tells  us  that 
his  future  poetic  glory  was  foreshadowed  by  a  swarm  of 
bees,  which,  in  his  infancy,  rested  upon  his  lips  while  he 
was  asleep.  It  was  as  if  the  honey  of  Parnas'sus  was 
already  upon  those  song- destined  lips. 

He  was  sent  early  to  Athens  by  his  parents  for  in¬ 
struction  in  the  poetic  art,  to  which  he  showed  an  incli¬ 
nation.  The  Greek  lyric  poet,  in  fact,  needed  no  small  edu¬ 
cation  in  his  art,  the  song  or  ode  being  intimately  connected 
with  music,  dancing,  and  the  whole  training  of  the  chorus. 

Having  completed  his  studies  at  Athens,  Pindar,  in  his 
twentieth  year,  returned  to  Thebes,  where  he  became  in¬ 
timate  with  Myr'tis  and  Corin' na,  two  poetesses  of  celeb¬ 
rity  in  that  day.  Corinna  is  said  to  have  had  great  in¬ 
fluence  over  the  youthful  poet.  Having  advised  him  to  use 
mythical  narratives  in  his  poems,  he  composed  a  hymn  in 
which  he  introduced  nearly  the  whole  Theban  mythology. 
Corinna  smiled,  and  said:  “We  ought  to  sow'  with  the 
hand,  and  not  with  the  whole  sack.” 

Pindar,  however,  soon  broke  from  lighter  strains  into 
the  noble  and  sublime  odes  with  which  his  name  is 
associated.  His  first  Pythian  ode,  composed  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  extended  his  fame  throughout  Greece,  and  gave 
him  such  reputation  that  he  was  employed  to  write  heroic 
and  choral  songs  for  states  and  princes  throughout  the 
Hellenic  world.  He  continued  to  pour  forth  these  une¬ 
qualed  odes  during  a  long  life,  and  died  finally  in  his 
native  city,  in  the  eightieth  year  of  his  age. 

The  only  poems  of  Pindar  which  have  come  down  to  us 
entire  are  his  Epincia,  or  triumphal  odes.  These  celebrate 


PINDAR. 


79 


respectively  the  victories  gained  in  the  Olympian,  Pythian, 
Nemean,  and  Isthmian  games.  They  were  sung  in  the  pro¬ 
cession  or  the  banquet  succeeding  the  games,  and  extolled 
the  wealth  and  skill  of  the  victor,  and  the  worth  of  his 
family,  usually  tracing  his  race  back  to  the  heroes  of  my¬ 
thology,  with  whose  deeds  those  of  the  victor  are  compared. 

Pindar  wrote  many  works  of  a  different  character  from 
these,  as  Hymns,  Panegyrics,  Drinking  Songs,  Dirges,  etc. 
Of  these  we  have  numerous  fragments,  but  no  entire  piece. 

So  highly  was  he  esteemed  that  there  was  placed  in  the 
temple  of  Apollo,  at  Delphi,  an  iron  chair,  expressly  devoted 
to  his  use  when  he  went  thither  to  sing  the  praises  of  that 
deity.  And  the  Priestess  of  the  temple,  to  do  him  the 
highest  honor,  directed  a  part  of  the  firstfruit  offerings  to 
be  dedicated  to  the  divine  poet.  On  two  occasions  his  resi¬ 
dence  in  Thebes  was  spared  when  all  the  rest  of  the  city 
was  laid  waste, —  first,  by  the  Lacedaemonians,  and  after¬ 
ward  by  Alexander  the  Great. 

His  poems  have  a  severe  and  chaste  style;  but  this  is 
relieved  by  their  copious  thought  and  expression,  their 
abundant  imagery,  and  their  picturesque  descriptions. 
Throughout  them  all  a  religious  tone  predominates.  The 
old  myths  were  to  him  realities,  and  he  accepts  them  with 
full  credence,  and  without  any  of  the  scepticism  which  was 
beginning  to  take  root  in  Athens.  We  give  the  following 
specimens  of  his  poems: 

FROM  THE  FIRST  PYTHIAN  ODE. 

“  O  lyre  of  gold, 

Which  Phoebus,  and  that  sister  choir, 

With  crisped  locks  of  darkest  violet  hue, 

Their  seemly  heritage  forever  hold: 

The  cadenced  step  hangs  listening  on  thy  chime; 

Spontaneous  joys  ensue; 

The  vocal  troops  obey  thy  signal  notes; 

While  sudden  from  the  shrilling  wire 


80 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


To  lead  the  solemn  dance  tliy  murmur  floats 
In  its  preluding  flight  of  song; 

And  in  thy  streams  of  music  drowned 
The  forked  lightning  in  Heaven’s  azure  clime 
Quenches  its  ever-flowing  fire. 

The  monarcli-eagle  then  hangs  down 
On  either  side  his  flagging  wing, 

And  on  Jove’s  sceptre  rocks  with  slumbering  lead: 

Hovering  vapors  darkling  spread 

O’er  his  arched  beak,  and  veil  his  filmy  eye: 

Thou  pourest  a  sweet  mist  from  thy  string; 

And  as  thy  music’s  thrilling  arrows  fly 

He  feels  soft  sleep  suffuse 

From  every  pore  its  balmy-stealing  dews, 

And  heaves  his  ruffled  plumes  in  slumber’s  ecstasy. . 

Stern  Mars  has  dropped  his  sharp  and  barbed  spear; 

And  starts,  and  smiles  to  hear — 

Thy  warbled  chaunts,  while  joy  flows  in  upon  his  mind; 
Thy  music’s  weapons  pierce,  disarm 
The  demons  of  celestial  kind, 

By  Apollo’s  music-cliarm, 

And  accent  of  the  zoned,  full-bosomed  maids 

That  haunt  Pieria’s  shades.”  — Gary. 

FROM  THE  SECOND  OLYMPIC. 

“  The  deeds  that  stubborn  mortals  do 

In  this  disordered  nook  of  Jove’s  domain, 

All  find  their  meed,  and  there’s  a  judge  below 
Whose  hateful  doom  inflicts  tli’  inevitable  pain. 

O’er  the  Good,  soft  suns  awhile, 

Through  the  mild  day,  the  night  serene, 

Alike  with  cloudless  lustre  smile, 

Tempering  all  the  tranquil  scene. 

Theirs  is  leisure;  vex  not  they 
Stubborn  soil  or  watery  way, 

To  wring  from  toil  Want’s  worthless  bread: 

No  ills  they  know,  nor  tears  they  shed, 

But  with  the  glorious  gods  below 
Ages  of  peace  contented  share; 

Meanwhile  the  Bad,  in  bitterest  woe, 

Eye-startling  tasks,  and  endless  tortures  bea\. 


PINDAR. 


81 


All,  whose  steadfast  virtue  tlirice 

Each  side  the  grave  unchanged  has  stood, 

Still  unseduced,  unstained  with  vice, 

They,  by  Jove’s  mysterious  road, 

Pass  to  Saturn’s  realm  of  rest, 

Happy  isle,  that  holds  the  Blest; 

Where  sea-born  breezes  gently  blow 
O’er  blooms  of  gold  that  round  them  glow, 

Which  nature  boon  from  stream  or  strand 
Or  goodly  tree  profusely  showers; 

Whence  pluck  they  many  a  fragrant  band, 

And  braid  their  locks  with  never-fading  flowers.” 

— A.  Moore. 

FROM  THE  THIRD  NEMEAN. - INNATE  WORTH. 

“Great  is  the  power  of  inbred  nobleness; 

But  who  that  all  he  has  to  schooling  owes, 

A  shallow  wight  obscure, 

Plants  not  his  step  secure; 

Feeding  vain  thoughts  on  phantoms  numberless, 

Of  genuine  excellence  mere  outward  shows. 

In  Phillyra’s  house,  a  flaxen  boy, 

Achilles  oft  in  rapturous  joy 
His  feats  of  strength  essayed. 

Aloof,  like  wind,  his  little  javelin  flew; 

The  lion  and  the  brindled  boar  he  slew, 

Then  homeward  to  old  Chiron  drew 
Their  panting  carcasses. 

This,  when  six  years  had  fled. 

And  all  the  aftertime 
Of  his  rejoicing  prime 
It  was  to  Dian  and  the  blue-eyed  maid 
A  wonder  how  he  brought  to  ground 
The  stag  without  or  toils  or  hound : 

So  fleet  of  foot,  was  he.”  — A.  Moore. 

With  Pindar  the  lyric  poetry  of  Greece  culminated.  It 
had  reached  its  utmost  height  of  fervor  and  polish,  and 
seemed  to  suddenly  become  extinguished  in  the  death  of 
this  poet, 


•  l 


82 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


A  few  bards  followed  him.  Onomac'  ritus,  the  first  pla¬ 
giarist  on  record,  published  certain  poems  which  he  ascribed 
to  Or'pheus  and  Musa)'  us.  He  professed  to  have  discovered 
them  in  the  secret  archives  of  the  city,  and  they  are  writ¬ 
ten  with  such  artless  simplicity  that  it  is  still  a  question  if 
part  of  these  hymns  do  not  belong  to  the  genuine  Orphic  era. 

Bacchyl'ides,  a  nephew  of  Simonides,  wrote  with  great 
polish,  delicacy  and  ornament,  but  with  none  of  the  fire  of 
his  great  predecessors.  He  had  the  excellence  which  educa¬ 
tion  gives,  not  that  of  poetic  inspiration.  With  his  death  the 
first  age  of  lyric  poetry  died.  More  than  fifty  years  passed 
before -Greece  produced  another  lyric  poet  of  any  eminence. 

-E'SOP. 

BORN  ABOUT  620  B.C. 

Famous  and  popular  as  the  name  and  works  of  vEsop 
have  become,  we  have  so  little  authentic  knowledge  of  his 
history  that  some  critics  have  even  denied  his  existence. 
The  fables  which  are  ascribed  to  him  are  certainly  not  en¬ 
tirely  of  his  production,  as  some  were  known  in  Greece 
anterior  to  his  date,  while  others  are  evidentlv  of  later  ori- 
gin;  but  many  of  them  possess  internal  evidence  of  being 
the  work  of  one  hand,  and  since  the  discovery  of  the  copy 
of  Babrias,  in  1842,  it  is  known  that  they  are  of  ancient 
Greek  origin. 

The  somewhat  doubtful  knowledge  we  possess  of  the  life 
of  iEsop  rests  on  the  authority  of  Herod' otus,  Dio' genes 
Laer'tius,  and  Plu'tarch,  and  is  as  follows:  As  Homer  was 
claimed  as  a  native  of  seven  cities,  vEsop  is  claimed  by  four 
localities,  namely:  Sar'dis,  the  capital  of  Lyd'ia;  Sa'mos,  a 
Greek  island;  Mesem'bria,  a  Thracian  colony,  and  Cotiae'um, 
a  city  of  Phrygia.  He  is  said  to  have  been  born  a  slave, 
and  to  have  belonged  in  succession  to  two  inhabitants  of 
Samos,  Xanthus  and  Jadmon,  the  latter  of  whom  gave  him 
his  liberty  as  a  reward  for  his  wit  and  learning. 


iESOP. 


83 


With  a  desire  for  instruction  he  is  said  to  have  traveled 
through  many  countries,  visiting  Pisis'tratus  at  Athens,  and 
Crce'sus  at  Sardis.  At  this  city  he  is  reputed  to  have  met 
and  conversed  with  Solon,  Thales,  and  other  sages,  so  pleas¬ 
ing  Croesus  by  the  part  which  he  took  in  these  conferences 
that  the  monarch  applied  to  him  an  expression  which  has 
become  a  proverb:  “The  Phrygian  has  spoken  better  than 
all.”  Fixing  his  residence  in  Sardis,  he  was  employed  by 
Croesus  in  delicate  state  embassies,  some  of  which  took 
him  to  the  republics  of  Greece.  In  this  manner  he  reached 
Corinth  and  Athens,  where  he  endeavored,  by  the  recital  of 
applicable  fables,  to  reconcile  the  inhabitants  to  the  rule 
of  their  respective  monarchs,  Perian'der  and  Pisis'tratus. 

One  of  these  missions  was  the  occasion  of  his  death. 
Having  been  sent  by  Croesus  to  Delphi  with  a  large  sum  of 
money,  to  be  distributed  among  the  citizens,  they  so  pro¬ 
voked  him  by  their  covetousness  that  he  refused  to  divide 
the  money,  and  sent  it  back  to  his  master.  This  enraged 
the  Delphians  to  such  an  extent  that  he  was  thrown  over  a 
precipice  by  the  infuriated  mob. 

Whether  this  person  was  the  author  of  the  iEsopian 
fables  or  not,  we  know,  from  Aristophanes  and  other  au¬ 
thorities,  that  fables  bearing  his  name  were  popular  in  the 
brilliant  period  of  Athenian  literature.  These  were  proba¬ 
bly  handed  down  by  oral  tradition.  Socrates  turned  such  of 
them  as  he  could  remember  into  verse,  and  the  same  was  done 
by  Demet'rius  Phale'reus,  the  Alexandrian  critic.  The  only 
Greek  version,  however,  of  which  any  entire  fables  remain, 
is  that  of  Babrias,  already  mentioned.  The  collection  of 
this  writer,  who  probably  lived  in  the  age  before  Augustus, 
was  found  in  1842,  in  an  Eastern  convent,  the  manuscript 
containing  in  all  two  hundred  and  twenty  fables,  of  which 
one  hundred  and  twenty-three  were  previously  unknown. 

The  resemblance  between  some  of  their  fables  and  the 
personal  peculiarities  attributed  in  common  to  iEsop  and 


84  THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 

the  Arabian  fabulist  Lokman,  have  led  some  persons  to 
conclude  that  the  two  men  were  identical,  or  that  the 
fables  common  to  both  belong  to  the  same  Eastern  source. 
It  is  very  possible,  indeed,  that  many  of  those  attributed 
to  iEsop  obeyed  the  inevitable  tendency  of  oral  literature 
to  accumulate  about  one  name;  but  that  iEsop  lived  and 
composed  many  of  the  fables  ascribed  to  him,  there  is  no 
sufficient  reason  to  deny. 

The  universal  favor  with  which  the  fables  of  iEsop  have 
been  received,  is  to  be  accounted  for  by  their  close  observ¬ 
ance  of  the  twofold  aim  which  the  true  fable  should 
possess.  The  object  of  the  fabulist  is  to  create  a  laugh, 
but  yet,  under  a  merry  guise,  to  convey  a  moral,  and  im¬ 
part  an  instructive  lesson.  “  The  fable,”  says  Professor 
Muller,  “  originated  in  Greece  in  an  intentional  travesty 
of  human  affairs.  The  ‘ainos,"  as  its  name  denotes,  is  an 
admonition,  or  rather  a  reproof,  veiled,  either  from  fear 
of  an  excess  of  frankness  or  from  a  love  of  fun  and  jest, 
beneath  the  fiction  of  an  occurrence  happening  among 
beasts;  and  wherever  we  have  any  ancient  and  authentic 
account  of  the  iEsopian  fables,  we  find  it  to  be  the  same.” 

The  true  fable  should  involve  three  requisites;  the 
narration  itself;  the  moral  to  be  deduced;  and  the  pres¬ 
ervation  of  individual  characters  in  the  animals  intro¬ 
duced.  The  narrative  should  relate  to  one  simple  action, 
and  not  be  overlaid  with  extraneous  circumstances;  the 
moral  should  be  so  plain,  and  so  interwoven  with  the 
story,  as  to  force  itself  on  the  attention  of  the  reader;  and 
the  animals  should  preserve  their  natural  attributes,  or 
such  as  are  given  to  them  by  popular  consent,  the  fox  being 
always  cunning,  the  lion  bold,  the  wolf  cruel,  etc.  Many 
of  the  fables  in  the  iEsopian  collection  closely  observe  these 
rules,  and  those  that  do  not  are  probably  interpolations 
in  the  true  iEsopian  work. 

“  ’Tis  the  simple  manner,”  says  Dodsley,  “  in  which  the 


A3S0P. 


85 


morals  of  iEsop  are  interwoven  with  his  fables  that  dis¬ 
tinguishes  him,  and  gives  him  the  preference  over  all  other 
mythologists.  His  ‘  Mountain  delivered  of  a  Mouse  1  pro¬ 
duces  the  moral  of  his  fable  in  ridicule  of  pompous  pre¬ 
tenders;  and  his  crow,  when  she  drops  her  cheese,  lets  fall, 
as  it  Were  by  accident,  the  strongest  admonition  against  the 
power  of  flattery.  There  is  no  need  of  a  separate  sentence 
to  explain  it;  no  possibility  of  impressing  it  deeper,  by 
that  load  we  too  often  see  of  accumulated  reflections.” 

When  the  fables  of  iEsop  became  known  in  Europe,  in 
the  fifteenth  century,  after  an  eclipse  of  many  centuries, 
they  became  immensely  popular,  spreading  rapidly  through 
Italy  and  Germany.  Luther  translated  a  number  of  them, 
and  is  said  to  have  valued  them  next  to  the  Holy  Scrip¬ 
tures.  Their  popularity  has  continued  to  the  present  day. 
We  give  a  few  of  the  most  noted. 

THE  LION,  THE  FOX,  AND  THE  ASS. 

The  Lion,  the  Fox,  and  the  Ass  entered  into  an  agreement  to  assist 
each  other  in  the  chase.  Having  secured  a  large  booty,  the  Lion,  on 
their  return  from  the  forest,  asked  the  Ass  to  allot  his  due  portion  to 
each  of  the  three  partners  in  the  treaty.  The  Ass  carefully  divided 
the  spoil  into  three  equal  shares,  and  modestly  requested  the  two 
others  to  make  the  first  choice.  The  Lion,  bursting  out  into  a  great 
rage,  devoured  the  Ass.  Then  he  requested  the  Fox  to  do  him  the 
favor  to  make  a  division.  The  Fox  accumulated  all  they  had  killed 
into  one  large  heap,  and  left  to  himself  the  smallest  possible  morsel. 
The  Lion  said :  “  Who  has  taught  you,  my  very  excellent  fellow, 
the  art  of  division?  You  are  perfect  to  a  fraction.”  He  replied: 
“  I  learned  it  from  the  Ass,  by  witnessing  his  fate.” 

THE  FROGS  ASKING  FOR  A  KING. 

The  Frogs,  grieved  at  having  no  ruler,  sent  ambassadors  to 
Jupiter  petitioning  for  a  King.  He,  perceiving  their  simplicity, 
cast  down  a  huge  log  into  the  lake.  The  Frogs,  terrified  at  the 
splash  made  by  its  fall,  hid  themselves  in  the  depths  of  the  pool. 
But  no  sooner  did  they  see  that  the  log  continued  motionless,  than 
they  swam  again  to  the  top  of  the  water,  and  came  so  to  despise  it 


86 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


as  to  climb  up,  and  to  squat  upon  it.  After  some  time,  thinking 
themselves  ill-treated  in  being  given  so  quiet  a  ruler,  they  sent  a 
deputation  to  Jupiter,  praying  for  another  sovereign.  He  then  gave 
them  an  Eel  to  govern  them.  But  the  Frogs,  discovering  the  easy, 
good  nature  of  their  new  ruler,  sent  a  third  time  to  Jupiter,  begging 
that  he  would  once  more  choose  them  a  King.  Jupiter,  displeased 
at  their  complaints,  sent  them  a  Heron,  who  preyed  upon  the  Frogs 
day  by  day  till  there  wrere  none  left  to  croak  upon  the  lake. 

THE  HARE  AND  THE  TORTOISE. 

A  Hare  one  day  ridiculed  the  short  feet  and  slow  pace  of  the 
Tortoise.  The  latter,  laughing,  said  :  “  Though  you  be  swift  as  the 
wind,  I  will  beat  you  in  a  race.”  The  Hare,  deeming  this  to  be 
simply  impossible,  assented ;  and  they  agreed  that  the  Fox  should 
choose  the  course  and  fix  the  goal.  On  the  day  appointed  for  the 
race  they  started  together.  The  Tortoise  never  for  a  moment 
stopped,  but  went  on  with  a  slow  but  steady  pace  straight  to  the 
end  of  the  course.  The  Hare,  trusting  to  his  native  swiftness,  cared 
little  about  the  race,  and  lying  down  by  the  wayside,  fell  fast  asleep. 
At  last  waking  up,  and  moving  as  fast  as  he  could,  he  saw  that  the 
Tortoise  had  reached  the  goal,  and  was  comfortably  dozing  after  her 
fatigue. 

THE  CAT  AND  THE  MICE. 

A  certain  house  was  overrun  with  Mice.  A  Cat  discovering  this, 
made  her  way  into  it  and  began  to  catch  and  eat  them  one  by  one. 
The  Mice,  being  continually  devoured,  kept  themselves  close  in 
their  holes.  The  Cat,  no  longer  able  to  get  at  them,  perceived 
that  she  must  tempt  them  forth  by  some  device.  For  this  purpose 
she  jumped  upon  a  peg,  and,  suspending  herself  from  it,  pretended 
to  be  dead.  One  of  the  Mice,  peeping  stealthily  out,  saw  her,  and 
said :  “Ah,  my  good  madam,  even  though  you  should  turn  yourself 
into  a  meal  bag,  we  will  not  come  near  you.” 


k 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEK  DRAMA. 


The  sudden  decline  in  lyric  poetry  had  its  cause  in  the 
intense  devotion  which  the  pleasure-loving  Athenians  dis¬ 
played  for  the  drama,  which,  at  the  epoch  of  these  brilliant 
lyric  poets,  had  reached  its  highest  stage  in  the  writings  of 
jEscliylus  and  his  successors. 

This  growth  of  the  dramatic  art  evidenced  a  new  ad¬ 
vance  in  the  progress  of  literature,  so  rapidly  developing 
in  the  hands  of  the  alert  and  active-minded  Greeks.  The 
epic,  in  which  the  poet  stands  at  a  distance,  calmly  observ¬ 
ing  and  quietly  narrating  the  deeds  of  former  heroes,  is 
a  more  primitive  literary  mode  than  the  drama,  in  which 
the  artist  throws  himself  into  the  midst  of  his  characters, 
and  makes  them  live,  act  and  talk  in  his  very  presence,  and 
in  that  of  his  hearers. 

It  is  a  severer  art  than  the  epic.  It  has  no  background 
of  narration,  none  of  that  aerial  perspective  which  draws 
on  the  imagination  of  the  spectator  to  eke  out  any  in¬ 
sufficiency  in  the  story.  Suppressing  these  aids,  it  must 
depend  for  effect  on  its  unity  and  simplicity,  on  its  power 
of  awakening  the  sympathy  of  an  audience,  of  unfolding 
the  depths  of  human  nature,  and  of  making  visible  to  the 
eye  and  palpable  to  the  touch  what  the  epic  poet  displays 
wrapped  in  the  glowing  veil  of  imagination. 

In  Greek  drama,  too,  the  lyric  art  is  almost  as  fully  culti¬ 
vated  as  the  dramatic,  in  the  songs  of  the  chorus,  which 
forms  such  an  essential  feature  of  the  classic  stage.  In  this, 

and  in  other  respects,  the  ancient  drama  differs  essentially 

87 


88 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


from  the  modern;  its  peculiar  features  arising  from  the 
character  of  its  origin,  and  from  the  marked  differences  in 
mental  requirement  between  the  Greeks  and  the  moderns. 
Our  tendency  to  the  romantic  and  imaginative  was  in  them 
replaced  by  a  severely  artistic  spirit,  whose  demands 
chiseled  their  plays  into  the  cold  stateliness  of  marble 
statuary,  while  they  lacked  the  plastic  and  vital  exuber¬ 
ance  of  the  recent  drama. 

As  the  dramatic  art,  moreover,  originated  in  Greece,  it 
necessarily  needed  time  and  experience  to  ripen  into  its 
most  attractive  and  life-like  form;  and  we  find  the  cold 
and  statuesque  severity  of  iEschylus  gradually  softening 
and  widening,  till,  in  the  later  comedy,  the  art  of  the  play- 
-  wright  much  more  closely  approximates  to  its  modern 
prototype. 

In  seeking  the  origin  of  this  art  we  must  go  back  to  the 
early  rural  festivals  of  the  Greeks,  and  particularly  those 
connected  with  the  worship  of  Bacchus.  Twice  each  year, 
at  the  opening  of  the  spring,  and  at  the  joyous  season  of 
the  vintage,  the  villagers  and  country  people  were  accus¬ 
tomed  to  gather  around  a  rustic  altar  dedicated  to  this 
merriest  of  the  gods,  at  the  foot  of  the  warm  hills  on  which 
the  grapes  grew  so  richly.  Here  they  would  dance,  sing, 
and  indulge  in  games,  which,  however  simple,  were  full  of 
that  graceful  spirit  which  seemed  innate  with  the  Greeks. 
Nor  was  it  an  idle  or  half-hearted  worship  they  thus  paid. 
They  fervently  believed  in  their  gods,  believed  that  every 
hill,  every  stream,  almost  every  tree,  was  the  seat  of  a 
distinct  deity;  and  their  worship  was  conducted  with  an 
enthusiasm  unknown  to  our  colder  natures. 

In  the  goat,  which  was  among  the  prizes  for  which  the 
young  men  contended  in  these  games,  we  have  the  supposed 
origin  of  the  word  Tragedy,  whose  literal  meaning  is  “  Goat 
Song.”  They  accompanied  their  jovial  sports  by  the  singing 
of  extemporized  hymns  in  honor  of  the  god,  dancing  around 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEK  DRAMA.  89 

the  altar  of  the  deity,  and  chanting  choruses  in  his  praise. 
Most  probably  certain  villages  grew  famous  for  their  skill 
in  these  games,  and  bands  of  such  expert  performers  may 
have  gone  from  place  to  place,  or  matches  have  arisen  be¬ 
tween  different  companies  of  singers,  giving  to  the  festivals 
something  of  the  character  of  musical  contests. 

In  the  hands  of  one  Ari'on,  of  Corinth,  the  dithyrambic 
dance  and  song  (as  this  performance  was  called)  became  an 
orderly  and  solemn  ceremony.  The  number  of  the  chorus 
was  increased  to  fifty,  and  the  extemporized  song  was  re¬ 
placed  by  set  music  and  words.  In  this  form  the  ceremony 
was  kept  up  for  many  years  in  different  parts  of  Greece. 

But  it  was  in  Attica,  the  native  land  of  the  drama,  that 
the  first  essential  addition  was  made  to  the  simplicity  of 
the  chorus.  This  consisted  of  a  rude  dialogue,  introduced 
into  the  pauses  of  the  clioric  song,  and  maintained  between 
a  single  speaker  and  the  leader  of  the  singers.  The  origin 
of  this  improvement  is  attributed  to  Thes'pis,  a  native  of 
the  country  districts,  who  flourished  about  535  b.c. 

The  Thespian  performances  were,  however,  ludicrous  and 
homely  in  character,  and  much  more  akin  to  the  comic  than 
the  tragic.  To  Phryn'ichus,  a  disciple  of  Thespis,  must  be 
given  the  honor  of  forming,  out  of  these  farcical  elements, 
the  earliest  approach  to  Tragedy.  Forsaking  the  humors  of 
the  rustic  festivals,  he  selected  for  his  subjects  solemn 
mythologic  legends,  which  he  handled  with  the  feeling  of  a 
poet.  But  his  works,  as  yet,  failed  to  exhibit  the  true 
dramatic  form,  being  essentially  lyrical  in  character.  It 
was  not  until  after  the  advent  of  iEsehvlus  as  a  dramatist 
that  the  productions  of  Phryn'ichus  became  in  any  just  sense 
dramatic,  borrowing  the  improved  methods  adopted  by  this 
great  artist,  to  whose  genius  we  owe  the  earliest  tragic 
drama  of  Greece. 

These  performances,  originating,  as  we  have  seen,  in  the 
country  districts,  soon  made  their  way  into  the  city  of 


i 


90 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Athens.  After' the  period  of  the  Persian  war,  when  this 
city  took  the  lead  among  the  Grecian  States,  we  find  the 
drama  thoroughly  acclimated  there,  and  received  with  an 
enthusiasm,  and  a  critical  judgment  as  to  its  truth  and 
beauty,  which  insured  its  rapid  development.  Whatever 
was  most  solemn  in  religion,  enthusiastic  in  national  feel¬ 
ing,  or  correct  in  an  artistic  sense,  found  expression  in  the 
rival  dramas,  which  twice  in  every  spring  were  offered,  in 
rapid  succession,  in  the  great  theatre  of  Bacchus,  in  con¬ 
test  for  the  tragic  prize. 

The  stage  on  which  these  performances  were  presented, 
at  first  a  mere  platform,  then  an  edifice  of  wood,  eventually 
became  a  splendid  theatre,  which  was  built  into  the  sloping 
height  of  the  Acrop'olis.  It  formed  a  vast  semicircle  of 
seats,  cut  into  the  solid  rock,  rising  tier  above  tier,  and 
capable  of  containing  an  audience  of  thirty  thousand  per¬ 
sons.  This  great  edifice  was  open  to  the  heavens.  Before 
the  spectators  lay  the  broad  sky,  the  temples  and  harbors  of 
the  city,  the  rocky  cliffs  of  Sal'amis,  and  the  sunny  islands 
of  the  bright  iEgean  Sea.  Nor  did  it  matter  if  the  sun 
shone  fully  into  their  faces,  for  a  Greek  audience  was  never 
fastidious  about  the  weather. 

It  may  seem  incredible  that  any  actor  could  make  him¬ 
self  distinctly  heard,  in  the  open  air,  by  such  an  immense 
audience;  and  that  his  critical  hearers  could  distinguish 
the  various  expressions  of  passion,  discriminating  between 
the  accents  of  grief  and  joy,  the  tones  of  submission  and 
command.  To  meet  this  difficulty  the  Greeks  contrived 
artistically  formed  masks,  which  inclosed  the  whole  head, 
and  were  fitted  with  some  acoustic  arrangement  by  which 
the  powers  of  the  human  voice  were  greatly  reinforced. 
Also,  that  the  persons  of  the  actors  might  not  appear 
diminutive  to  the  spectators,  their  height  was  increased 
by  thick-soled  shoes,  and  their  apparent  size  by  a  judicious 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEK  DRAMA. 


91 


adjustment  of  the  dress,  while  the  mask  probably  increased 
the  size  of  the  head  in  due  proportion. 

This  vast  theatre  was  not  without  its  scenery,  sometimes 
of  a  very  costly  and  artistic  character;  while  the  modern 
appliances  for  mechanical  effects,  such  as  the  simulation  of 
thunder  and  lightning,  arid  the  appearance  of  apparitions, 
seem  to  have  been  well  understood. 

Here,  at  the  festivals  of  Bacchus,  and  particularly  at  the 
great  Dionysia,  held  at  the  end  of  March  and  beginning  of 
April,  the  principal  tragic  contests  took  place.  On  these 
occasions  Athens  was  crowded,  and  the  great  theatre 
thronged  with  eager  spectators.  For  the  whole  day  this 
critical  audience  sat,  applauding  or  condemning,  and  often 
deciding  in  advance  of  the  judges  what  play  of  all  those 
presented  was  best  entitled  to  the  prize. 

One  play  seldom  occupied  more  than  an  hour  and  a  half 
in  its  performance,  but  often  three  such  plays  were  con¬ 
nected  together  in  one  grand  whole  called  a  trilogy.  These 
were  usually  followed  by  a  comic  piece  by  the  same  poet, 
to  relieve  the  seriousness  of  so  much  tragedy.  A  drama 
which  had  once  gained  a  prize  was  not  permitted  to  be 
exhibited  again,  unless  as  a  special  favor.  Thus  the  “  long 
runs”  of  modern  plays  was  not  a  characteristic  of  the 
Greek  stage.  Nor  were  the  authors  permitted  to  accept 
pay  for  their  works.  They  must  be  content  with  the  ap¬ 
probation  of  an  Athenian  audience  as  their  sole  and  highest 
reward. 

A  main  distinctive  feature  of  their  drama  lay  in  the 
employment  of  the  chorus.  These  choristers,  from  twelve  to 
fifteen  in  number,  and  representing  persons  immediately  or 
remotely  connected  with  the  characters  of  the  drama,  entered 
in  procession,  or  in  a  complicated  dance,  grouping  them¬ 
selves  around  the  altar  to  Bacchus,  which  stood  just  before 
the  stage. 

Frequently  the  leader,  or  the  whole  chorus,  took  part  in 


92 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


the  dialogue.  Their  principal  duty,  however,  was  to  diver¬ 
sify  the  movement  of  the  play  by  hymns  and  dirges,  sung 
to  the  music  of  flutes,  and  by  artfully  contrived  and  ex¬ 
pressive  dances. 

It  mav  thus  be  seen  that  the  Athenian  drama  differed 
*/ 

essentially  from  the  productions  of  the  modern  playwright. 
A  reference  to  the  works  of  the  great  Hellenic  authors  will 
show  this  still  more  clearly. 

iES'CHYLUS. 

BORN  525  B.C. 

iEscliylus,  the  father  of  Greek  tragedy,  was  born  at 
Eleu'sis,  near  Athens,  b.c.  525.  His  family  was  one  of  the 
most  ancient  and  distinguished  in  Attica.  The  future  poet 
received  every  advantage  of  education,  and  from  childhood 
was  distinguished  for  mental  ardor  and  boldness  of  spirit. 
He  is  said  to  have  committed  the  entire  poems  of  Homer  to 
memory,  and  to  have  attempted  to  rival,  in  his  own  pecu¬ 
liar  field,  the  great  epic  poet. 

His  attention,  however,  being  turned  to  the  drama,  he 
so  far  surpassed  all  previous  efforts  in  this  field  as  to  make 
his  first  work  a  notable  epoch  in  the  tragic  art.  To  the 
monologue  of  Phrynichus  he  added  a  second  actor,  dimin¬ 
ished  the  importance  of  the  chorus,  and  in  other  ways  im¬ 
proved  the  form  of  the  play.  As  to  its  spirit,  that  he  may 
be  said  to  have  originated. 

ffEschylus  joined  the  armies  of  Greece  during  the  Per¬ 
sian  invasion,  fought  at  Mar'athon,  Sal' amis,  and  Platae'a, 
and  attained  Such  distinction  for  courage  that  he  and  his 
two  brothers  were  selected  for  the  prize  of  preeminent 
bravery  at  Marathon. 

He  afterward  devoted  himself  closely  to  the  drama,  pro¬ 
ducing,  according  to  different  authorities,  from  seventy  to 
one  hundred  tragedies.  Of  these,  but  seven  are  still  in 


iESCHYLUS. 


93 


existence.  For  some  reason  not  well  known  he  left  his 
native  city  in  his  old  age  and  went  to  Sicily,  where  he  was 
warmly  received  by  King  Hiero,  a  noted  patron  of  litera¬ 
ture.  Here  he  passed  the  remainder  of  his  life,  in  company 
with  Simonides,  Pindar,  and  other  poets  of  renown.  He 
died  at  Ge'la,  b.c.  456. 

The  fable  goes  that,  while  seated  in  a  public  park  at 
Gela,  in  deep  contemplation,  an  eagle  dropped  a  tortoise  on 
the  old  poet’s  bald  head,  mistaking  it  for  a  stone, — 

“And  crushed  that  brain  where  tragedy  had  birth.” 

iEschylus  added  new  and  essential  features  to  the  drama, 
but  the  plots  of  his  pieces  are  very  simple,  and  lack  ingenu¬ 
ity  of  construction  or  solution.  His  merit  lies  in  his  bold, 
earnest,  and  elevated  tone,  in  the  sublimity  of  his  expres¬ 
sions,  and  his  rich  imagery.  He  represents  destiny  in  its 
sternest  aspect;  gigantic  heroes,  Titans  and  gods,  rather 
than  men,  appear  on  the  scene;  and  his  strong  and  vigorous 
diction  is  in  accordance  with  his  characters.  He  excelled 
in  describing  the  awful  and  terrible,  rather  than  in  display¬ 
ing  the  workings  of  varied  motives  in  the  human  mind. 
Yet  the  subordinate  characters  in  his  plays  use  language 
fitting  to  their  stations,  and  less  removed  from  that  of  com¬ 
mon  life. 

The  names  of  his  extant  tragedies  are,  the  Prome'theus , 
the  Seven  against  Thebes ,  the  Agamem' non ,  the  Choeph'ori, 
the  Eunien'ides ,  the  Supplicants,  and  the  Persians. 

Of  these  dramas  the  Prome'theus  is,  perhaps,  the  most 
remarkable.  For  pure  and  sustained  sublimity  it  is  unsur¬ 
passed  in  the  literature  of  the  world.  Two  vast  demons, 
Strength  and  Force,  accompanied  by  Vulcan,  appear  in  a 
remote,  unpeopled  desert.  There,  on  a  lofty  rock,  near  the 
sea,  Prometheus  is  chained  by  Vulcan,  “a  reward  for  his 
disposition  to  be  tender  to  mankind.”  While  Vulcan  binds 
him,  Prometheus  utters  no  sound  —  it  is  Vulcan  alone  that 


94 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


complains  of  the  terrible  task  which  Jupiter  has  assigned 
him.  Not  until  the  ministers  of  doom  have  departed  does 
the  prisoner  burst  forth  with  his  grand  apostrophe: 

“O  Air  divine!  O  ye  swift-winged  Winds, — 

Ye  sources  of  the  rivers,  and  ye  waves, 

That  dimple  o’er  old  Ocean  like  his  smiles, — 

Mother  of  all,  O  Earth!  and  thou  the  orb, 

All-seeing,  of  the  Sun,  behold  and  witness 

What  I,  a  god,  from  the  stern  gods  endure. 
******* 

When  shall  my  doom  be  o’er  ?  —  Be  o’er !  —  to  me 
The  future  hides  no  riddle  —  nor  can  woe 
Come  unprepared!  It  fits  me  then  to  brave 
That  which  must  be ;  for  what  can  turn  aside 
The  dark  course  of  the  grim  Necessity?” — Bulwer. 

While  thus  soliloquizing,  the  air  becomes  fragrant  with 
odors,  and  faintly  stirs  with  the  rustle  of  coming  wings. 
The  Daughters  of  Ocean  —  the  chorus  of  the  play — come 
to  console  the  Titan,  and  utter  their  complaints  against  the 
tyranny  of  Jove.  Ocean  himself  appears  and  vainly  counsels 
the  chained  captive  to  submit  to  Jupiter.  Prometheus  is 
unyielding.  He  tells  how  his  giving  fire  to  the  human  race 
and  infusing  hope  into  the  minds  of  men,  was  the  cause 
of  his  punishment,  and  predicts  a  terrible  danger  to  the 
Olympian  deities,  which  he  will  never  reveal  till  released 
from  bondage.  The  Ocean'ides  again  sing: 

“  One  have  I  seen  with  equal  tortures  riven  — 

An  equal  god ;  in  adamantine  chains 
Ever  and  evermore, 

The  Titan  Atlas,  crushed,  sustains 
The  mighty  mass  of  mighty  heaven; 

And  the  whirling  cataracts  roar 
With  a  chime  to  the  Titan’s  groans, 

And  the  depth  that  receives  them  moans; 

And  from  vaults  that  the  earth  are  under 
Black  Hades  is  heard  in  thunder; 

While  from  the  founts  of  white-waved  rivers  flow 
Melodious  sorrows,  uniting  with  his  woe.” — Bulicer. 


iESCHYLUS. 


95 


Prometheus  continues  to  detail  the  benefits  which  he 
has  conferred  upon  mankind,  and  finally  discourses  on  the 
power  of  Necessity,  which  is  sovereign  over  Jupiter  him¬ 
self.  Even  this  supreme  god  cannot  escape  his  doom.  “  His 
doom,”  ask  the  Oceanides,  “’is  he  not  evermore  to  reign?” 
“  That  thou  may’st  not  learn,”  replies  the  prophet.  “  In 
the  preservation  of  this  secret  depends  my  future  freedom.” 

Finally  Mercury  arrives,  charged  by  Jupiter  to  learn 
from  Prometheus  the  nature  of  the  danger  that  awaits  him. 
The  Titan  haughtily  defies  the  threats  and  warnings  of  the 
herald,  and  declares  that  whatever  may  be  done  to  him, 
he  is  at  least  immortal  —  he  cannot  die. 

Mercury  departs,  and  the  menace  of  Jupiter  is  fulfilled  — 
amid  storm  and  earthquake,  both  rock  and  prisoner  are 
struck  by  the  lightning  of  the  god  into  the  dark  abyss. 

That  is  the  whole.  A  god  chained  to  a  rock;  listening 
to  sympathizing  visitors;  sternly  refusing  to  yield  to  his 
great  foe;  and,  in  the  spirit  of  his  name,  which  signifies 
forethought ,  beholding  in  the  far  future  ruin,  prepared 
by  unchanging  destiny,  for  the  Olympian  deities  them¬ 
selves.  Yet  in  this  captive  Titan  we  have  a  conception 
unequaled  in  literature,  if  we  except  the  Satan  of  Milton’s 
great  epic. 

The  extant  play  was  probably  but  the  second  of  a  trilo¬ 
gy,  the  first  of  which  may  have  shown  the  crime  of  Pro¬ 
metheus,  while  the  last  may  have  had  for  its  subject  Pro¬ 
metheus  Freed,  his  restoration  to  his  godlike  station. 

One  trilogy  of  iEschylus  is  fortunately  preserved  to  us, 
that  comprising  the  “Agamemnon,”  the  “  Choephori,”  and 
the  “  Eumenides.”  The  first  represents  the  death  of  the 
great  Argive  King,  the  second  the  vengeance  of  his  son 
Ores'tes  on  his  murderers,  and  the  third  the  trial  and  de¬ 
liverance  of  Orestes  from  the  pursuing  Furies. 

Since  this  trilogy  has  been  considered  one  of  the  greatest 
works  of  human  art,  we  will  give  a  concise  description  of 


96 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


it,  though  the  work  itself  must  be  read  to  show  its  true 
claims  to  greatness. 

In  the  “Agamem'non”  the  leader  of  the  Greek  host  is 
on  his  way  home  from  the  conquest  of  Troy.  For  ten  years 
has  a  lonely  watchman  “  looked  forth  into  the  night  ”  for 
the  gleam  of  the  beacon  fire  that  is  to  bring  to  Queen 
Clytemnes'tra  the  signal  of  her  husband’s  triumph  and 
return.  But  it  is  not  with  loving  anticipations  that  she 
now  awaits  him.  Weary  of  his  long  absence  she  has 
married  his  cousin,  iEgis'thus,  and  it  is  with  dark  designs 
that  the  guilty  pair  expect  the  coming  of  the  king. 

This  ancient  “  Lady  Macbeth  ”  is  utterly  without  the 
human  weaknesses  of  her  modern  prototype.  She  has  the 
guile  of  a  deceiving  tongue,  but  none  of  the  yieldingness 
of  a  woman’s  heart.  There  is  in  her  no  relenting  and  no 
remorse.  Has  she  not  cause  for  vengeance?  He  has  sac¬ 
rificed  her  daughter  Ipliigeni'a;  he  brings  home  the  captive 
Cassan'dra,  as  a  rival  in  her  affection.  With  a  heart  hard 
as  the  nether  millstone,  but  a  tongue  smooth  with  professed 
love,  she  meets  her  returned  lord.  She  will  do  him  special 
honor.  She  says: 

“  Stay,  nor  set 

On  the  bare  earth,  O  king,  thy  hallowed  foot; 

That  which  has  trampled  upon  ruined  Troy. 

Why  tarry  ye,  my  damsels  ?  ’Tis  your  office 
To  strew  the  path  with  gorgeous  carpetings; 

Like  purple  pavement  rich  be  all  his  way; 

That  justice  to  his  house  may  lead  him  in  — 

The  house  he  little  dreams  of.  All  the  rest 
Leave  to  my  care,  that  may  not  sleep.  So  please 
The  Gods,  what’s  justly  destined  shall  be  done.” 

— Milman. 

The  king  fails  to  detect  the  subtle  irony  of  this  speech. 
He  will  have  none  of  this  uncalled-for  show.  He  answers: 

“  Treat  me  not  like  a  soft  and  delicate  woman ; 

Nor,  strewing  with  bright  tapestries  my  way, 

Make  me  an  envy  to  all-jealous  Heaven. 


AESCHYLUS. 


97 


As  a  man  honor  me,  not  as  a  god. 

Though  she  wipe  not  her  feet  on  carpetings, 

Nor  variegated  garments  tine,  Fame  lifts 
High  her  clear  voice.  To  be  of  humble  mind 
Is  God’s  best  gift.  Blessed  is  only  he 
Who  in  unbroken  happiness  ends  his  days. 

Still  may  I  prosper,  thus  not  over  bold.” — Milman. 

But  at  last  lie  is  persuaded  to  tread  on  the  purple,  and 
enter  the  fatal  house.  Then  is  the  seeress  Cassandra  seized 
with  her  fatal  gift  of  prophecy.  She  sees  the  curse  that 
hangs  above  the  house,  and  that  has  for  generations  pur¬ 
sued  the  race  of  Agamemnon.  She  looks  in  horror  at  the 
palace  gates.  Her  beautiful  face  is  disfigured  with  fear 
and  passion  as  the  dark  vision  forces  itself  upon  her  mind, 
with  all  its  dread  details, — the  fatal  bath,  the  lifting  of  the 
murderous  weapon,  the  slaughter  of  the  too-confiding  king. 

Suddenly  a  cry  is  heard  within: 

“Woe’s  me,  I’m  stabbed!  stabbed  with  a  mortal  blow!  ” 

It  is  repeated,  fainter  and  fainter,  as  the  voice  of  Aga¬ 
memnon  sinks  in  the  agony  of  death.  The  deed  is  done. 

Then  the  stage  opens,  and  the  queen,  terrible  in  her 
triumph,  is  revealed,  standing  by  the  side  of  her  murdered 
lord,  the  fatal  axe  still  in  her  hand,  and  boldly  and  with 
stern  defiance  glorying  in  her  deed. 

A  fiercer,  darker  nature,  more  unrelenting  in  her  fell 
purpose,  more  majestic  in  her  unremorseful  pride  in  the 
dark  accomplishment,  does  not  exist,  in  history  or  tragedy, 
than  this  terrible  woman,  who  thus  stands,  axe  in  hand, 
detailing  the  dread  particulars  of  her  crime. 

But  in  Greek  legend  and  in  Greek  tragedy  retribution 
follows  crime.  Direct  from  the  Gods,  or  through  the  hands 
of  men,  their  chosen  agents,  comes  revenge;  and,  though 
long  it  may  seem  to  halt,  yet  justice  at  last  demands  expia¬ 
tion.  Ores'tes,  the  son  of  Agamemnon,  grows  to  manhood. 
Full  of  dark  thoughts  of  vengeance  he  consults  the  oracles 


98 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


of  Apollo  at  Delphi,  and  is  commanded  to  go  to  Argos  and 
there  to  slay  his  mother  and  her  guilty  lover. 

His  sister,  Elec'tra,  has  remained  in  her  mother’s  palace, 
in  endless  anguish  of  soul  for  her  father’s  death,  and  detes¬ 
tation  of  his  murderess,  with  whom  she  is  forced  into  daily 
association.  She  does  not  cease  to  offer  libations  on  the 
tomb  of  the  slain  monarch.  At  the  last  her  reward  comes, — 
she  discovers  on  the  tomb  a  votive  lock  of  her  brother’s  hair. 

Driven  by  the  stern  hand  of  destiny,  the  young  prince 
has  come,  the  agent  of  the  Gods,  to  work  the  long-delayed 
redress  for  his  father’s  slaughter.  Electra  returns  to  the 
palace,  her  soul  burdened  with  the  weight  of  that  command 
of  the  oracle  which  no  man  dare  disobey,  and  of  which  her 
brother  has  told  her. 

The  play  moves  on  with  a  directness  that  is,  in  itself, 
terrible.  Orestes  falters  not  for  an  instant.  Straight  to 
the  palace  gate  he  walks,  and  knocks  repeatedly.  In  these 
stern  tragedies  only  the  chorus  wavers  and  trembles;  the 
characters  are  destitute  of  doubts  or  fears.  With  a  false 
tale  as  to  who  he  is,  and  with  promised  tidings  of  the  death 
of  Orestes,  the  revengeful  son  brings  false  iEgisthus  within 
reach  of  his  armed  hand. 

One  blow  and  it  is  done.  Again  the  cry  of  death  rings 
through  that  dark  palace.  Clytemnestra  comes  forth,  feel¬ 
ing  that  the  hour  of  her  fate  has  arrived;  calling  in  one 
moment  for  an  axe  with  which  to  defend  her  life,  in  the 
next  seeking  to  disarm  the  avenger  by  a  tender  appeal. 

For  an  instant  Orestes  pauses,  but  his  friend  Pyl'ades 
reminds  him  of  Apollo’s  command  and  his  own  vows.  His 
mother  pleads  that  Fate  compelled  her  to  her  crime.  He 
replies  that  Fate  now  ordains  her  death. 

Then  he  drags  her  into  the  palace,  and  the  terrible  deed 
of  vengeance  is  done  out  of  sight,  in  the  decorous  taste  of 
the  Greek  theatre,  which  never  permitted  death  or  murder 
on  the  stage. 


JESCH  YLUS. 


99 


But  there  are  other  gods  than  Apollo.  The  Furies, 
those  terrible  ministers  of  retribution,  cannot  let  the  crime 
of  matricide  escape  their  dread  censure.  Almost  at  the 
moment  of  the  deed  Orestes  beholds  them  rising. 

“  Gorgon-like  they  come, 

Vested  with  sable  stoles,  their  locks  entwined 
With  clustering  snakes.  No  longer  may  I  bide.” 

He  rushes  forth  in  a  frenzy,  pursued  by  these  unrelent¬ 
ing  demons,  his  every  step  tracked,  his  every  moment  mad¬ 
dened,  by  the  torturing  whips  of  the  dark  pursuing  band. 

In  the  last  play  of  the  trilogy  the  fugitive  is  found  at 
Delphi;  nay,  in  the  very  central  shrine  of  the  Sun-god 
himself;  the  hideous-faced  Furies  sleeping  around  their 
victim;  while  the  priestess  of  the  oracle  rushes  forth  in  an 
agony  of  terror.  Never  before  has  such  pollution  ap¬ 
proached  the  temple  of  Apollo. 

Orestes  prays  to  the  deity  to  be  delivered  from  his  tor¬ 
ments.  ApoTlo  bids  him  not  to  fear,  and  intrusts  him  to 
Her'mes,  to  be  escorted  to  Athens,  where  he  is  to  be  tried 
by  the  court  of  Areop'agus,  the  great  religious  tribunal, 
for  the  deed  he  has  committed. 

The  Furies  awake,  and  are  wild  with  rage  and  disap¬ 
pointment,  as  they  fear  the  escape  of  their  victim.  But 
Apollo  stands  up,  angry  and  beautiful,  his  silver  bow  in 
his  hand,  and  bids  them  quit  his  temple,  as  they  fear  his 
unerring  arrows. 

We  next  find  the  fugitive  before  the  Athenian  court, 
Minerva  herself  as  his  advocate,  while  the  Furies  conduct 
the  prosecution.  It  is  a  strange  scene  to  be  enacted  in 
the  presence  of  twelve  Athenian  citizens,  the  judges  of  the 
tribunal.  The  trial  ends,  the  judges  vote,  equally  for  ac¬ 
quittal  and  condemnation.  But  Minerva,  who  holds  the 
casting  vote,  gives  it  in  favor  of  the  culprit,  and  Orestes 
is  at  last  freed  from  the  curse  attendant  upon  his  crime, 


100 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


while  the  doom,  which  has  so  long  rested  upon  the  house 
of  Pelops,  is  at  last  retrieved  and  lifted. 

Orestes,  in  his  last  words,  proffers  perpetual  alliance 
between  his  native  Argos  and  the  Athenian  state.  He 


says : 


“  Now  homeward  I  depart, 

Pledged  to  thy  country  and  thy  lieges  here 
By  oath,  to  be  revered  for  evermore, 

That  never  helmsman  of  the  Argive  State 
Shall  hither  bear  the  well-appointed  spear. 

For  we,  ourselves,  though  couching  in  the  grave, 

On  those  who  violate  these  present  oaths 
By  sore  perplexities  will  work,  and  send 
Distressful  marches,  and,  with  omens  dire, 

Crossings  of  streams,  till  they  repent  their  toil. 

But  unto  those  who  keep  this  pledge,  and  honor 
Athena’s  city  with  confederate  spear, 

To  them  we  will  be  gracious  evermore. 

Hail,  goddess,  and  these  city-wardens,  hail ! 

Still  may  your  gripe  be  fatal  to  your  foes, 

While  victory  and  safety  crown  your  spear.” — Milman. 


SOPH'OCLES. 

BORN  495  B.C. 

The  second  of  the  great  trilogy  of  Greek  tragic  artists 
was  a  native  of  Colo'nus,  a  small  village  about  a  mile  to 
the  north  of  Athens.  As  to  his  biography,  the  materials 
remaining  to  us  are  sparse  and  uncertain.  There  are  some 
few  facts  only  on  which  we  can  rely. 

His  parents  must  have  been  people  of  means,  for  the 
future  poet  received  the  most  careful  training  under  the 
best  masters.  The  boy  was  so  notable  for  grace  and  beauty 
that,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  was  selected  from  the  youth 
of  Attica  to  lead  the  choral  dance  round  the  altar,  which 
had  been  raised  in  honor  of  the  victory  of  Salamis.  Ten 
vears  later  we  find  him  coming  forward  at  the  great  festival 
of  Bacchus  as  the  rival  of  iEschylus,  in  competition  for  the 


SOPHOCLES. 


101 


tragic  crown.  Tlie  first  prize  was  unanimously  awarded 
to  Sophocles.  It  is  supposed  that  it  was  in  resentment  at 
this  verdict  that  iEschylus  left  Athens  and  retired  to  Syra¬ 
cuse. 

This  first  success  determined  the  vocation  of  our  poet. 
For  more  than  forty  years  he  continued  to  exhibit  plays, 
sometimes  winning  the  first  prize,  sometimes  defeated  by  a 
younger  candidate,  but  never  once  degraded  to  the  third 
place.  He  is  said  to  have  written  in  all  more  than  a  hun¬ 
dred  tragedies.  Of  these  but  seven  are  extant. 

A  Greek  audience  and  Greek  judges  seem  to  have  been 
somewhat  capricious  in  their  decisions,  since  we  find  the 
great  artists  to  whom  time  has  adjudged  the  first  honors  in 
the  dramatic  art,  frequently  defeated  in  the  contests  for  the 
olive  crown  by  candidates  whose  names  and  works  sank  at 
once  into  oblivion. 

These  lost  artists  may  have  had  merits  which  we  are 
prevented  from  appreciating;  but  there  is  another  factor  in 
the  case  which  needs  to  be  considered.  The  tragic  writers 
were  restricted  in  their  choice  of  subjects  to  the  early 
legendary  stories  of  Greece.  We  find  them  frequently 
treating  the  same  legend,  each  handling  it  in  his  own  man¬ 
ner,  and  making  such  innovations  in  the  time-honored  tale 
as  his  judgment  directed.  But  these  legends  were  like 
household  songs  to  the  Greeks.  They  based  their  claims 
to  antiquity  and  honor  on  their  descent  from  the  great 
heroes  of  old,  and  were  likely  to  be  quite  as  critical  of  a 
poet’s  treatment  of  his  subject  as  of  the  value  of  his  work 
in  a  literary  point  of  view.  Doubtless  this  often  caused 
the  rejection  of  works  of  the  highest  order  of  merit,  and 
the  crowning  of  some  competitor  who  was  fortunate  only 
from  a  strict  adherence  to  the  recognized  details  of  tradi¬ 
tion.  In  all  ages  originality  has,  at  times,  been  thus  pun¬ 
ished  for  its  daring  departure  from  the  commonplace. 

Sophocles  was  fortunate  in  more  respects  than  one.  His 


102 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


life  was  coeval  with  the  greatness  of  his  country;  nor  did 
he  live  to  see  the  Long  Walls  —  the  symbol  of  that  great¬ 
ness —  leveled  in  the  dust  to  the  sound  of  Spartan  music. 
The  heroes  who  had  driven  back  the  Persians  were  around 
him.  Men  whose  names  are  still  famous  were  his  friends: 
Herodotus,  Anaxagoras,  Phidias,  and  others.  He  enjoyed  a 
rare  popularity  in  Athens.  Even  Aristophanes,  whose  satire 
was  unsparing  in  all  other  directions*  never  launched  his 
shafts  of  wit  at  Sophocles.  He  died  full  of  years  and 
honors,  loved,  as  we  are  told,  by  all  men.  The  army  that 
was  then  besieging  Athens  gave  safe  conduct  to  his  re¬ 
mains  to  the  sepulchre  of  his  fathers;  at  the  request  —  so  the 
story  goes  —  of  the  god  Bacchus,  the  divine  patron  of  tragedy. 

It  is  but  a  step  from  iEscliylus  to  Sophocles,  yet  there  is 
a  remarkable  change  in  the  age  and  in  the  men.  The  stern 
belief  in  the  ancient  legends  is  being  tempered  with  a 
graceful  doubt.  The  colossal  heroes,  the  grim  necessity, 
the  unearthly  conceptions,  of  the  elder  artist,  are  replaced 
by  creatures  of  flesh  and  blood,  with  human  sympathies  and 
affections.  Skillfully  woven  plots,  truly  delineated  charac¬ 
ters,  artistically  developed  stories,  such  are  the  character¬ 
istics  of  the  dramas  of  Sophocles,  the  most  perfect  tragic 
artist  which  the  past  lias  yielded  to  us. 

In  his  plays  necessity  does  not  lay  its  strong  hand  on 
men,  and  force  them  to  submit  blindly  to  its  bidding.  On 
the  contrary,  we  perceive  passion  working  out  its  own  ends, 
simply  and  naturally.  There  are  no  abnormal  mental 
states.  A  Greek  audience  would  have  had  little  patience 
with  the  melancholy  of  Hamlet  or  the  madness  of  Lear. 
With  them  all  must  be  direct  and  clear.  Jealousy,  hate, 
and  anger  must  work  as  they  worked  in  their  own  minds, 
to  be  appreciated.  To  this  demand  the  artists  conformed; 
or  possibly  they  themselves  were  yet  incapable  of  gauging 
the  depths  of  the  human  soul,  or  the  intricate  conflict  of 
human  motives. 


SOPHOCLES. 


103 


Sophocles  was  essentially  religious  in  his  works.  No 
Athenian  citizen  could  have  seen  his  plays  without  feeling 
their  deeply  religious  sentiment,  or  without  being  touched 
and  elevated  by  the  mingled  sweetness,  purity,  and  pathos 
which  won  for  their  author  the  title  of  the  “Attic  Bee.” 
With  this  sentiment  is  mingled  a  strong  conception  of  the 
littleness  of  men,  and  the  impotence  of  human  wisdom,  as 
compared  with  the  omnipotent  foresight. 

Sophocles  is  said  to  have  introduced  many  improvements 
upon  the  Athenian  stage.  He  raised  the  number  of  actors 
from  two  to  three.  The  latter  was  the  greatest  number 
ever  permitted  to  be  at  any  one  time  upon  the  stage  of  the 
ancient  theatre.  He  attired  his  actors  in  splendid  dresses; 
purple  robes,  jeweled  chaplets,  and  embroidered  girdles. 
He  increased  the  numbers  of  the  chorus,  and  gave  a  new 
form  and  spirit  to  the  music  of  their  odes.  He  was  himself 
a  skilled  musician,  and  thoroughly  understood  the  most 
effective  management  of  the  choral  ode,  which  had  so  pow¬ 
erful  an  influence  on  the  minds  of  the  music-loving  Greeks. 

His  extant  plays  are:  the  trilogy  of  Gdd'ipus  the  King, 
GJd'ipus  at  Colo'nus,  and  Antig'one;  the  Death  of  Ajax ; 
the  Maidens  of  Tra'chis;  the  Philocte'  tes ;  and  the  Elec  tra. 

Of  these  we  will  give  a  brief  description  of  the  most 
notable,  the  (Edipus  trilogy,  and  particularly  of  the  An¬ 
tigone,  the  most  popular  of  the  plays  of  Sophocles,  both  in 
the  past  and  in  recent  times.  It  was  frequently  acted  on 
the  Athenian  stage;  it  has  been  translated,  imitated,  and 
adapted,  by  centuries  of  dramatists,  from  Seneca  to  Racine; 
and  as  recently  as  1854  it  was  actually  represented  on  the 
boards  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  with  all  the  accessories  of 
classic  costume  and  scenery. 

The  secret  of  this  enduring  popularity  is  not  hard  to 
discover.  The  heroine  is  the  purest  and  noblest  ideal  of 
womanhood  that  ever  inspired  a  poet;  the  poetry  —  as  has 
been  said  —  of  what  Socrates  is  the  prose;  in  fiction,  as  he 


104 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREKCE. 


in  history,  a  martyr  to  the  cause  of  truth.  Still  we  hear 
her  voice  sounding,  in  protest  against  tyranny,  through  the 
ages. 

“  No  ordinance  of  man  shall  override 
The  settled  laws  of  Nature  and  of  God; 

Not  written  these  in  pages  of  a  hook, 

Nor  wrere  they  framed  to-day,  nor  yesterday; 

We  know  not  whence  they  are;  but  this  we  know, 

That  they  from  all  eternity  have  been, 

And  shall  to  all  eternity  endure.” 

The  simple  yet  tragic  story  of  ffidipus,  the  King,  may  be 
told  in  almost  a  sentence.  No  children  were  born  to  King 
Laius  of  Thebes  and  his  wife  Jocasta.  The  oracle  at  Delphi 
was  consulted,  and  it  foretold  that  they  should  have  a  son, 
but  by  the  hands  of  this  son  the  king  should  surely  die. 
The  predicted  son  was  born,  and  with  it  a  not  unnatural 
desire  in  the  mind  of  the  father  to  destroy  this  predestined 
parricide.  The  infant  was  exposed  to  die,  but  —  as  is  apt 
to  happen  in  fiction  —  was  saved  and  brought  up  in  utter 
ignorance  of  his  parentage. 

King  Laius,  grown  old,  undertook  a  second  pilgrimage 
to  Delphi,  thirty  years  after  his  first.  He  never  returned. 
He  was  slain  by  some  unknown  hand  on  his  journey. 

And  soon  a  monster,  with  the  face  of  a  woman,  the 
wings  of  a  bird,  and  the  tail  and  claws  of  a  lion,  desolated 
the  city  of  Thebes.  The  Spliynx  (as  the  monster  is  called) 
proposed  a  fiddle  which  no  Theban  could  solve;  and  for 
every  failure  the  life  of  a  citizen  paid  the  penalty.  CEdipus, 
the  unknown  son  of  Laius,  by  chance  arrived  at  Thebes, 
learned  the  trouble  of  the  citizens,  and  at  once  answered 
the  mysterious  riddle.  The  enigma  is,  in  fact,  of  the  sim¬ 
plest  kind. 

“A  being  with  four  feet  lias  two  feet  and  three  feet;  but  its  feet 
vary,  and,  when  it  has  most,  it  is  weakest.” 


SOPHOCLES. 


105 


Professor  Plumptre  has  thus  translated  the  answer  of 
(Edipus: 

“  Hear  tliou  against  thy  will,  thou  dark-winged  muse  of  the 
slaughtered ; 

Hear  from  my  lips  the  end  bringing  a  close  to  thy  crime: 

Man  is  it  thou  hast  described,  who,  when  on  earth  he  appeareth, 

First  as  a  babe  from  the  womb,  four-footed  creeps  on  his  way, 

Then,  when  old  age  cometli  on,  and  the  burden  of  years  weighs 
full  heavy, 

Bending  his  shoulders  and  neck,  as  a  third  foot  useth  his  staff.” 

And  so  the  adventurer  becomes  king,  takes  for  wife  the 
widow  of  Lams,  and  has  by  her  both  sons  and  daughters. 
For  years  all  goes  well  with  him.  But  even  the  uncon¬ 
scious  commission  of  sin  is  punished  in  Greek  legend.  This 
incestuous  marriage  with  his  own  mother  is  repugnant  to 
the  Gods.  A  pestilence  falls  upon  the  city  of  Thebes,  which 
shall  not  be  lifted,  as  Apollo  declares,  till  the  guilt  of  the 
murder  of  Laius  has  been  expiated. 

(Edipus,  ignorant  that  he  himself  is  the  man,  uses  every 
effort  to  discover  the  murderer.  Finally  the  horrible  truth 
dawns  upon  him.  An  old  man,  who  had  been  insolent  to 
him  upon  the  highway  long  years  before,  and  whom  he  had 
slain,  proves  to  have  been  Laius;  and,  as  he  now  first  dis¬ 
covers,  his  own  father. 

Here  the  tragic  interest  grows  intense.  Jocasta,  over¬ 
come  by  the  horror  of  the  revelation,  dashes  open  the 
door  of  the  fatal  bridal  chamber,  and  hangs  herself  from 
the  ceiling.  (Edipus,  maddened,  and  raging  for  a  sword 
with  which  to  slay  her,  the  innocent  cause  of  his  misfor¬ 
tunes,  finds  her  thus  dead.  In  a  frenzy  of  remorse  he  tears 
down  the  body,  wrenches  the  golden  buckle  from  her  dress, 
and  dashes  the  point  into  his  eyes.  The  palace  doors  are 
rolled  back,  and  the  grief-stricken  king  comes  forth  with 
wild  gestures,  and  with  eyes  that  are  “  irrecoverably  dark 
amid  the  blaze  of  noon.” 


106 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


As  the  story  goes  on  in  the  next  play  of  the  trilogy, 
(Edipus,  after  having  been  taught  resignation  by  years  of 
calm,  even  won  of  pleasure  in  the  affection  of  his  daugh¬ 
ters,  is  at  length  driven  forth  by  his  own  sons  to  be  a  wan¬ 
derer  upon  the  face  of  the  earth.  And  so  the  blind  old 
man  goes  forth  from  Thebes,  guided  by  his  tender-hearted 
daughter  Antig'one.  For  months  they  wander,  begging 
their  way,  till  they  find  themselves  at  Colonus  near  Athens, 
the  birthplace  of  the  poet. 

Tradition  tells  us  that  Sophocles,  when  in  his  old  age, 
was  brought  into  court  on  a  charge  made  by  his  eldest  son 
that  he  was  an  imbecile,  and  incapable  of  managing  his 
own  affairs.  The  aged  poet  refuted  the  charge  by  reciting 
the  following  lines  from  his  then  unfinished  play,  in  which 
the  chorus  sings  the  attractions  of  Colonus.  We  give  it  in 
the  spirited  version  of  Anstice. 

“  Stranger,  thou  art  standing  now 
On  Colonus’  sparry  brow ; 

All  the  haunts  of  Attic  ground, 

Where  the  matchless  coursers  bound, 

Boast  not,  through  their  realms  of  bliss, 

Other  spot  as  fair  as  this. 

Frecpient  down  this  greenwood  dale 
Mourns  the  warbling  nightingale, 

Nestling  ’mid  the  thickest  screen 
Of  the  ivy’s  darksome  green. 

Here  Narcissus,  day  by  day, 

Buds  in  clustering  beauty  gay. 

Here  the  golden  Crocus  gleams, 

Murmur  here  unfailing  streams, 

Sleep  the  bubbling  fountains  never, 

Feeding  pure  Cephiseus’  river, 

Whose  prolific  waters  daily 
Bid  the  pastures  blossom  gaily, 

With  the  showers  of  spring-time  blending 
On  the  lap  of  earth  descending.” 

But  trouble  has  again  comes  upon  Thebes.  The  un- 
filial  sons  are  at  open  war  for  the  crown.  Such  tidings 


SOFIIOCLES. 


107 


Isme'ne,  the  other  daughter,  brings  to  her  father,  as  he  sits 
in  calm  resignation  in  a  grove  at  Colonus.  It  is  the  grove 
sacred  to  the  Furies,  into  whose  precincts  he  has  unwittingly 
wandered.  But  these  dread  deities  are  pacified  by  a  liba¬ 
tion  from  the  pure  hands  of  his  daughters. 

And  now  King  Cre'on  of  Thebes  comes  to  seize  the  body 
of  the  old  king,  whom  an  oracle  has  declared  will  bring 
victory  to  the  party  having  him  in  possession.  (Edipus 
defies  him,  and  The'seus  of  Athens  recovers  the  daughters, 
who  have  been  carried  off  by  cruel  Creon.  Next  Polyni'ces, 
one  of  the  sons,  who  is  leading  a  Spartan  army  against 
Thebes,  seeks  the  aid  of  his  blind  old  father.  But  (Edipus 
indignantly  spurns  him,  and  prophesies  death  to  both  his 
unfilial  sons. 

Polynices  is  not  without  nobility  of  soul.  He  prepares  to 
meet  the  fate  thus  predicted,  and  makes  a  last  request  of  his 
sisters,  that  they  will  give  his  body  seemly  burial.  And  then 
he  goes  forth  to  battle,  knowing  himself  to  be  doomed. 

But  (Edipus  is  taken  home  by  the  Gods,  amid  storm  and 
thunder,  in  a  manner  in  which  man  never  before  departed 
from  this  earth. 

“  Silence  ensued  — 

A  silence,  oh,  how  awful !  From  beneath, 

With  deep,  mysterious  voice,  called  one  unseen. 

Again  and  yet  again  the  god  exclaimed : 

‘Come,  (Edipus,  why  pause  we  to  depart? 

Come,  (Edipus,  for  thou  hast  tarried  long.’  ” — Dale. 

And  when  the  chorus  enters,  Theseus,  the  Athenian 
king,  is  standing  alone,  shading  his  eyes  as  from  some  un¬ 
earthly  vision.  (Edipus  has  passed  away.  He  is  the  Elijah 
of  Greek  legend;  but  with  a  translation  more  mysterious 
and  awe-inspiring  than  that  of  the  Hebrew  prophet. 

The  Antig'one  opens.  The  Spartans  have  been  driven 
back  in  defeat  from  the  walls  of  Thebes.  The  two  warring 
brothers  lie  dead. 


108 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Ete'ocles,  who  has  fought  on  the  side  of  Cre'on,  has  been 
buried  with  a  soldier’s  honors.  But  the  body  of  Polyni'ces 
is  doomed  by  Creon  to  lie  “unwept,  unburied,”  a  prey  for 
the  fowls  of  the  air  and  the  beasts  of  the  field.  Whoever 
disobeys  this  mandate  is  to  be  stoned  to  death. 

But  Antigone,  his  sister,  has  promised  him  burial.  No 
edict  shall  stand  between  her  and  her  duty.  Her  sister, 
Ismene,  shrinks  from  the  perilous  task.  But  her  prudent 
counsel  only  incenses  Antigone,  who  breaks  forth  in  lofty 
scorn : 

“No  more  will  I  exhort  thee  —  no!  and  if 
Thou  wouldst  it  now,  it  would  not  pleasure  me 
To  have  thee  as  a  partner  in  the  deed. 

Be  what  it  liketli  thee  to  be,  but  I 
Will  bury  him ;  and  shall  esteem  it  honor 
To  die  in  the  attempt;  dying  for  him, 

Loving  with  one  who  loves  me  I  shall  lie 
After  a  holy  deed  of  sin;  the  time 
Of  the  world’s  claims  upon  me  may  not  mate 
With  what  the  grave  demands;  for  there  my  rest 
Will  be  for  everlasting.  Come  what  will, 

It  cannot  take  from  me  a  noble  death.” — Donaldson. 

The  devoted  sister  boldly  buries  the  body  of  her  brother; 
and,  when  questioned  by  Creon  why  she  had  thus  dared  to 
disobey  the  laws,  proudly  replies: 

“  Not  through  fear 
Of  any  man’s  resolve  was  I  prepared 
Before  the  gods  to  bear  the  penalty 
Of  sinning  against  these.  That  I  should  die 
I  knew  (how  should  I  not?)  though  thy  decree 
Had  never  spoken.  And  before  my  time 
If  I  shall  die,  I  reckon  this  a  gain; 

For  whoso  lives,  as  I,  in  many  woes, 

How  can  it  be  but  he  shall  gain  by  death?” — Plumptre. 

Creon  heartlessly  dooms  her  to  be  entombed  alive  in  a 
cavern  among  the  rocks.  But  she  simply  asks: 

“  Does  he  wish  for  anything  beyond  her  death  ?  ” 


SOPHOCLES. 


109 


And  now  a  new  character,  Hse'  mon,  the  son  of  Creon, 
comes  to  plead  for  the  life  of  his  affianced  bride.  He  — 
perhaps  the  only  lover  in  all  Greek  tragedy,  so  essentially 
does  it  differ  from  our  own  —  strives  passionately  for  the 
life  of  Antigone,  but  in  vain.  All  his  arguments  are  ex¬ 
hausted,  and  he  leaves  his  father’s  presence  with  a  threat 
that  “  he  shall  see  his  face  no  more.” 

But  this  is  not  love  as  Shakespere  would  have  rendered 
it.  Htemon  scarcely  names  his  affection.  There  is  no  scene 
of  passionate  farewell  between  him  and  Antigone,  as  our 
own  bard  would  so  thrillingly  have  given.  His  appeal  is 
only  to  justice  and  public  opinion.  The  Greeks  seem  to 
have  utterly  lacked  the  fervent  modern  idea  of  love,  if  we 
may  judge  from  their  literature. 

Antigone,  dragged  to  her  cruel  death,  breaks  forth  into 
a  passionate  lament  for  her  young  life  thus  cut  short.  The 
consciousness  of  her  innocence  cannot  reconcile  her  to  the 
horrors  of  the  living  tomb.  Only  when  Creon  enters  does 
she  recover  some  of  her  haughty  spirit,  proclaim  aloud 
her  innocence,  and  appeal  from  his  barbarity. 

And  so  she  passes  from  the  scene.  But  retribution  fol¬ 
lows  close  upon  crime.  Creon  is  confronted  by  Tire'sias, 
the  blind  seer,  who  denounces  upon  him  the  vengeance  of 
heaven,  and  terrifies  him  by  portentious  visions  of  coming 
disaster.  The  frightened  monarch  hastens  to  retrieve  his 
deeds,  orders  Polyni'ces  to  be  buried,  and  Antig'one  to  be 
released  from  her  tomb. 

The  stones  are  rolled  away  from  the  entrance  to  the 
cavern,  but  a  piteous  sight  meets  their  eyes.  The  mes¬ 
senger  tells  Creon: 

“  In  the  farthest  corner  of  the  vault 
We  saw  her  hanging  by  the  neck,  with  cord 
Of  linen  threads  entwined,  and  him  we  found 
Clasping  her  form  in  passionate  embrace.” — Plumptre. 


110 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Creon  hurries  to  the  scene,  and  entreats  his  son  to  leave 
the  fatal  chamber.  Haemon  answers  not;  but,  with  glaring 
eyes,  draws  his  sword.  The  father  starts  back  in  terror, 
but  the  unfortunate  youth  buries  the  blade  in  his  own 
body  and  falls  upon  the  earth,  still  clasping  the  dead 
Antigone. 

O 

And  immediately  a  second  messenger  comes  to  Creon, 
telling  that  the  queen,  his  wife,  has  stabbed  herself  with 
a  mortal  blow. 

Here  the  horror  culminates.  Nothing  can  be  added 
to  the  anguish  and  remorse  of  Creon,  left  living  to  endure 
the  agony  of  a  crushed  happiness,  and  an  ever-present  grief. 
He  moans: 

“And  I  know  not 

Which  way  to  look  or  turn.  All  near  at  hand 

Is  turned  to  evil ;  and  upon  my  head 

There  falls  a  doom  far  worse  than  I  can  bear.” 

EURIP'IDES. 

BORN  480  B.C. 

The  birthplace  of  this  famous  dramatist  was  the  island 
of  Salamis,  where  the  Athenian  women  had  taken  refuge 
from  the  Persian  invaders.  He  was  born  on  the  very 
day  of  the  great  sea-fight,  which  immortalized  the  name 
of  the  island,  and  destroyed  the  Persian  fleet.  He  saw  the 
glories  of  Athens  grow  up  under  his  eyes.  Destroyed  as  - 
it  had  been  by  the  Persians,  it  was  rebuilt,  adorned  with 
the  wonders  of  innumerable  temples  and  statues,  and 
became  the  home  of  world-renowned  artists,  poets,  drama¬ 
tists,  historians  and  philosophers;  leaping  at  one  bound 
into  a  glory  such  as  no  other  city  has  ever  attained,  living 
a  short,  feverish  prime  of  power  and  wealth,  then  sinking 
into  irremediable  decay;  and  all  within  the  short  space 
of  one  man’s  life. 

Fortunately  for  Euripides,  he  died  ere  the  city  he  had 


EURIPIDES. 


Ill 


loved  so  well  fell  before  the  invading  Spartan.  Like  Sopho¬ 
cles,  he  did  not  live  to  behold  its  ruin. 

The  rapid  change  in  feeling  and  belief  among  the 
Athenians  made  its  full  mark  upon  Euripides.  The  un¬ 
swerving  faith  in  the  gods  as  actual  beings,  so  strong  in 
iEschylus,  was  replaced  in  Sophocles  by  a  devotion  to  art, 
and  a  heedlessness  to  the  philosophic  doubts  of  his  day; 
and  in  Euripides  by  an  entire  acceptance  of  the  teachings 
of  the  philosophers,  and  a  doubt  of  the  omnipotence  of 
Destiny  and  the  Olympian  deities. 

With  this  his  education  had  much  to  do.  He  was  the 
pupil  of  Anaxag'oras  in  physical,  and  Protag' oras  in  moral 
science.  Prod'icus  instructed  him  in  rhetoric,  and  Soc' rates 
in  philosophic  reasoning.  But  the  young  philosopher  had 
to  keep  his  opinions  within  bounds.  The  temper  of  those 
excitable  Athenians  was  a  treacherous  one.  They  destroyed 
Socrates  as  a  heretic.  It  was  not  safe  to  step  too  far  from 
the  beaten  track. 

The  future  dramatist  was  at  first  trained  as  a  gymnast, 
and  even  won  a  prize  or  two  in  the  ring,  but  failed  to 
gain  admittance  to  the  Olympian  games.  He  was  then 
seventeen  years  of  age.  He  tried  other  arts,  and  became 
somewhat  successful  as  a  painter.  In  his  twenty-sixth  year 
he  first  presented  himself  as  a  candidate  for  the  tragic 
crown, —  the  same  year  in  which  iEschylus  died.  His  play 
gained  the  third  prize, —  no  mean  distinction  for  a  novice. 
It  was  not  until  Euripides  was  forty  years  old  that  he 
gained  the  first  prize.  Even  his  Medea,  since  so  famous, 
failed  to  reach  beyond  the  third. 

Euripides  was  twice  married,  and  seems  to  have  been 
not  altogether  happy  as  a  husband.  He  is  said  ,  to  have 
been  a  gloomy,  austere  man,  never  smiling,  shunning 
general  society,  and  living  almost  as  a  recluse.  He  had 
his  friends,  however,  as  Socrates;  and  his  foes,  as  Aris- 


112 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


toplianes,  who  attacked  him  with  all  his  satirical  virulence, 
and  did  his  best  to  render  him  ridiculous. 

For  some  cause,  not  given,  he  left  Athens  in  his  old  age, 
retiring  to  Pella,  the  capital  of  Macedonia.  Here  he  found 
other  Athenians;  for  the  king,  Archela'us,  was  a  patron 
of  art  and  literature.  Euripides  died  at  Pella,  two  years 
after  retiring  there,  and  in  the  seventy-fifth  year  of  his 
age.  There  is  a  story  that  he  was  torn  to  pieces  by  mas¬ 
tiffs  set  upon  him  by  two  rival  poets,  but  it  is  not  very 
well  authenticated. 

With  the  usual  inconsistency  of  the  Athenians,  no  sooner 
was  their  great  poet  dead  than  they  went  wild  in  their 
anxiety  to  do  him  honor.  It  was  ordered  that  the  usual 
badge  of  mourning  should  be  worn  by  every  citizen  for 
the  period  of  twenty-eight  days.  Sophocles,  when  his  next 
play  was  presented,  caused  his  actors  to  appear  uncrowned 
in  respect  for  his  great  rival.  A  deputation  was  sent  to 
Pella  to  bring  back  the  body,  but  the  Macedonian  king 
declined,  burying  him  himself,  with  every  mark  of  honor 
and  respect. 

After  the  disastrous  Sicilian  expedition,  when  numbers 
of  the  Athenians  were  held  in  bondage,  it  was  decreed  by 
the  conquerors  that  every  prisoner  should  be  set  free  who 
could  repeat  any  of  the  verses  of  Euripides.  Thus  by  the 
influence  of  his  great  name,  some  straggling  remnant  of 
the  unfortunate  host  returned  to  their  native  city. 

The  popularity  of  the  plays  of  Euripides  was  largely 
owinsf  to  their  naturalness.  His  characters  talked  not  like 

O 

the  superhuman  heroes  of  iEschylus,  nor  the  ideal  men 
and  women  of  Sophocles;  but  like  men  as  they  are,  with 
the  very  tone  and  manner  of  living  Athenians.  His  dramas 
were  essentially  plays  of  the  passions,  and,  while  much 
less  artistic  than  those  of  Sophocles,  and  very  uneven  in 
their  power,  were  marked  by  the  greatest  elegance  in 
language,  and  by  unrivaled  sweetness  and  beauty  in  their 


EURIPIDES. 


113 


lyrical  portions.  Another  feature  is  the  philosophic  doubt 
of  the  celestial  machinery  which  pervades  them. 

Euripides  introduced  a  regular  prologue  to  his  plays, 
in  a  mode  that  would  have  been  hardly  pleasing  to  a 
modern  audience,  as  it  gave  an  inkling  of  the  whole  plot. 
But  the  stories  of  the  ancient  dramas  were  household  words 
to  their  hearers,  who  must  have  been  chiefly  interested  in 
discovering  how  the  time-honored  heroic  tales  were  to  be 
treated,  and  what  new  wine  would  be  put  into  the  old 
bottles  of  their  familiar  legends. 

In  the  conclusion  of  his  plays  he  was  often  very  inar¬ 
tistic,  getting  his  characters  into  a  tangle  of  difficulties 
from  which  there  seemed  no  escape,  and  then  swooping 
down  with  a  god  or  goddess,  Minerva  or  Apollo,  to  set 
all  things  right,  and  untangle  with  a  word  the  snarl  of 
trouble  into  which  the  characters  had  drifted. 

Euripides  wrote  in  all  from  seventy-five  to  ninty-two 
plays,  according  to  different  authorities.  Of  these  no  less 
than  seventeen  are  extant,  with  a  number  of  fragments 
of  others.  There  is  also  one  satyric  drama,  The  Cyclops , 
which  is  valuable  as  being  the  only  specimen  extant  of  this 
species  of  writing.  As  we  have  before  remarked,  the  three 
plays  of  the  Greek  trilogy  were  followed  by  a  fourth  mem¬ 
ber,  of  a  comic  or  satyric  character,  which  served  to  tone 
down  the  feelings  of  the  audience  after  the  excitement  of 
tragic  passion.  Broad  comedy  or  farce  would  not  have  been 
tolerated  by  an  Athenian  audience  in  such  a  case,  but  they 
readily  accepted  the  tragic  form  and  ironical  humor  of  the 
satyric  drama. 

The  following  are  the  names  of  the  extant  tragedies  of 
Euripides. 

Alces'tis,Mede'a ,  Iphigeni'a  in  Au'lis,  Iphigenia  at  Tau'ri , 
The  Bacchanals ,  Ton ,  HippoVytus ,  The  Phoenician  Women , 
The  Suppliants ,  The  Children  of  Hercules ,  The  Frenzy  of 


114 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE, 


Hercules ,  Ilec  uba,  The  Trojan  Women ,  Elec'tra,  Ores  tes, 
Helen ,  and  Androrn  ache. 

Of  these  we  will  give  a  description  of  the  Mede'a,  as 
probably  the  most  celebrated  for  its  pathos  and  tragic 
strength.  It  has  retained  a  hold  upon  spectators  ever 
since  the  days  of  its  writer,  and  is  still,  wedded  to  the 
music  of  the  opera,  attractive. 

On  the  stage  Medea  appears  under  some  disadvantages. 
The  worst  elements  of  her  nature  are  aroused.  The  bet¬ 
ter  seldom  appear.  The  enchantress  of  Colchis,  who  has 
aided  Jason  in  his  theft  of  the  golden  fleece,  and  has  since 
lived  with  him  at  Corinth  as  his  wife,  finds  herself  sadly 
wronged  by  the  man  for  whom  she  has  sacrificed  her  all. 

The  play  opens  with  a  speech  from  the  nurse,  who  lets 
the  audience  into  the  critical  state  of  affairs  between  Jason 
and  his  wife.  She  can  see  nothing  but  evil  in  the  second 
marriage  projected  by  Jason.  She  tells  an  old  servant  of 
the  sad  condition  of  her  mistress.  He,  on  his  part,  brings 
news.  Medea  must  quit  Corinth  that  very  day,  taking  her 
two  sons  with  her.  The  fears  of  the  nurse  are  strongly 
awakened  for  the  children.  She  begs  Jason’s  servant: 

“To  the  utmost,  keep  them  by  themselves, 

Nor  bring  them  near  their  soi  row-frenzied  mother, 

For  late  I  saw  her  with  the  roused  hull’s  glare 
View  them  as  though  she’d  at  them,  and  I  trow 
That  she’ll  not  bate  her  wrath  till  it  have  swooped 
Upon  some  prey.”  — Mrs.  Webster. 

Medea  enters,  full  of  quiet  brooding  over  her  wrongs, 
but  she  is  encountered  by  King  Creon,  who  sentences  her 
to  immediate  banishment.  The  enforcement  of  this  decree 
would  destroy  her  projects  of  revenge.  She  kneels  to  the 
king,  and  begs  him  for  mercy.  But  he  fears  her  too  much 
to  revoke  his  sentence.  All  he  will  do  is  to  grant  her  a 
respite  till  the  morrow.  It  is  enough.  She  has  gained 
time  for  vengeance. 


EURIPIDES. 


BOSTON  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 
CHESTNUT  HILL,  MASS. 

115 


“Fool  that  he  is,”  she  says;  “he  has  left  me  now  only 
one  thing  to  find  —  a  city  of  refuge,  a  host  who  will  shelter 
me  after  I  have  done  the  deed,  since  in  this  day  three  of 
my  foes  shall  perish  by  dagger  or  by  drug, — 

“The  father,  and  the  girl,  and  he  my  husband; 

For  never,  by  my  Queen,  whom  I  revere 
Beyond  all  else,  and  chose  unto  my  aid, 

By  Hecate!  who  dwells  on  my  hearth’s  shrine, 

Shall  any  wring  my  heart  and  still  be  glad.” 

— Mrs.  W ebster. 

Jason  now  enters  and  upbraids  Medea  because  she  will 
not  quietly  submit  to  his  perfidy.  If  she  had  been  only 
gentle  and  calm,  how  pleasantly  she  might  have  remained 
at  Corinth.  She  has  only  her  own  rash  tongue  to  thank 
for  her  banishment.  Poor  fool,  he  little  sees  that  he  is 
turning  the  red  heat  of  her  resentment  to  white;  steeling 
her  soul  to  its  terrible  revenge. 

She  changes  her  plan.  Her  children  shall  be  the  instru¬ 
ment  of  her  vengeance.  As  for  Jason,  he  shall  not  have 
the  happy  privilege  of  death,  but  shall  live  to  untold 
misery.  She  recalls  the  perfidious  wretch,  affects  to  regret 
her  hot  words,  will  even  conciliate  his  new  wife  with  the 
gift  of  a  queenly  robe  and  crown,  with  the  condition  that 
her  children  shall  not  be  forced  into  exile.  Jason,  think¬ 
ing  that  she  is  now  in  her  right  mind,  agrees  to  both  pro¬ 
posals. 

He  little  knows  what  he  has  done.  The  gifts  are  en¬ 
venomed.  Creon  and  Glau'ce,  the  father  and  projected 
wife,  are  wrapt  in  a  sheet  of  phosphoric  flame,  and  expire 
in  torments.  Never,  perhaps,  has  a  more  terrible  scene 
been  presented  on  the  stage  than  this  final  one  of  Medea. 
All  Corinth  is  thirsting  for  revenge  upon  her.  Jason,  who 
has  seen  the  charred  remains  of  Glau'ce  and  Creon,  rushes 
upon  the  stage  to  arrest  their  murderess.  He  frantically 


cries: 


116 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


“Hath  she  gone  away  in  flight? 

For  now  must  she  or  hide  beneath  the  earth 
Or  lift  herself  with  wings  into  wide  air, 

Not  to  pay  forfeit  to  the  royal  house.” 

“Seeks  she  to  kill  me  too?”  he  demands  of  the  chorus. 
“  Nay,”  they  reply,  “you  know  not  the  worst”: 

“The  boys  have  perished  by  their  mother’s  hand; 

Open  these  gates,  tliou’lt  see  thy  murdered  sons. 

Jason.  Undo  the  bolt  on  the  instant,  servants  there; 
Loose  the  clamps,  that  I  may  see  my  grief  and  bane; 
May  see  them  dead,  and  guerdon  her  with  death.” 

But  the  enchantress  has  escaped  him.  She  hovers  over 
the  palace,  taunts  him  with  her  wrongs,  mocks  at  his  new¬ 
born  love  for  the  children  he  had  consented  to  banish,  and 
triumphs  alike  over  her  living  and  dead  foes: — 

“’Twas  not  for  thee,  having  spurned  my  love, 

To  lead  a  merry  life,  flouting  at  me, 

Nor  for  the  princess;  neither  was  it  his 
Who  gave  her  thee  to  wed,  Creon,  unscathed 
To  cast  me  out  of  his  realm.  And  now, 

If  it  so  like  thee,  call  me  lioness, 

And  Scylla,  dweller  on  Tursenian  plains; 

For  as  right  bade  me,  have  I  clutched  thy  heart.” 

— Mrs.  Webster. 

From  the  Hec'uba  we  extract  the  storv  of  the  death  of 
Polyx'ena,  who  is  sacrificed  to  the  Gods  that  the  Grecian 
host  may  obtain  fair  winds  home  from  Troy;  as  Iphigeni'a 
was  sacrificed  for  the  same  reason  on  their  way  thither.  It 
is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  pathetic  pictures  in  the 
Athenian  drama. 

Pyr'rhus,  the  son  of  Achilles,  dedicates  the  “pure  crim¬ 
son  stream  of  virgin  blood”  to  the  shades  of  his  father, 
prays  for  “swift  passage  homeward  to  the  Grecian  host,” 
and  draws  his  golden  sword  for  the  sacrifice. 

“At  his  nod 

The  noble  youths  stepped  forth  to  hold  the  maiden, 


EURIPIDES. 


117 


Which  she  perceiving,  with  these  words  addressed  them: 
‘Willing  I  die;  let  no  hand  touch  me;  boldly 
To  the  uplifted  sword  I  hold  my  neck. 

You  give  me  to  the  gods,  then  give  me  free.’ 

Loud  the  applause,  then  Agamemnon  cried: 

‘  Let  no  man  touch  her;  ’  and  the  youths  drew  back. 

Soon  as  she  heard  the  royal  words,  she  clasped 
Her  robe,  and  from  the  shoulder  rent  it  down, 

And  bared  her  snow-white  bosom,  beauteous 
Beyond  the  deftest  sculptor’s  nicest  art. 

Then  bending  to  the  earth  her  knee,  she  said  — 

Earth  never  yet  has  heard  more  mournful  words  — 

‘  If  ’tis  thy  will,  young  man,  to  strike  this  breast, 

Strike ;  or  my  throat  dost  thou  prefer,  behold 
It  stretched  to  meet  thy  sword.’  ”  — Potter. 

Even  the  rugged  Pyrrhus  is  touched  with  pity,  pauses, 
and  at  last  reluctantly, 

“  Deep  in  her  bosom  plunged  the  shining  steel. 

Her  life-blood  gushed  in  streams;  yet  e’en  in  death, 

Studious  of  modesty,  her  beauteous  limbs 
She  covered  with  her  robe.” 


— Potter. 


THE  COMIC  POETS  OF  GREECE. 


The  Comedy  of  Greece  had  much  the  same  origin  as  its 
Tragedy.  As  the  latter  grew  out  of  the  dithyrambic  chorus, 
so  the  former  developed  from  the  phallic  songs. 

We,  with  our  subdued  habits,  can  scarcely  imagine  the 
intense  delight  and  the  wild  spirit  of  mirth  with  which  the 
country-loving  Greeks  enjoyed  their  rural  festivals.  Living 
in  the  boyhood  of  the  world,  as  it  were,  they  had  all  the 
exuberance  of  the  boyish  spirit,  and  were  not  tamed  into 
sobriety  by  our  weight  of  years  and  civilization. 

At  the  harvest-home  festival,  after  the  harvest  or  vintage 
was  over,  a  band  of  jolly  revellers  marched  in  wild  proces 
sion,  bearing  merrily  aloft  the  emblems  of  fertility,  the 
leader  singing  a  broad  convivial  song,  while  the  rest  joined 
in  a  boisterous  chorus. 

In  this  rustic  rejoicing  is  visible  the  first  gleam  of  the 
ancient  comedy,  the  dramatic  and  choral  portions  being 
respectively  represented  by  the  song  of  the  reveler  and 
the  accompanying  dance  and  chorus. 

The  first  development  of  the  comic  spirit,  like  that  of 
the  tragic,  was  in  Attica.  The  songs  of  the  wild  proces¬ 
sions  were  entirely  extempore,  and  after  shouting  their 
jubilant  hymns  to  Bacchus,  they  jeered  the  admiring  crowd 
with  rude  and  biting  jests,  with  a  license  and  immunity 
which  would  scarcely  have  been  accorded  them  under  other 
circumstances. 

At  a  later  period,  as  an  ancient  chronicle  relates,  Susa'- 
rion,  a  native  of  Meg'ara,  was  in  the  habit  of  carrying  from 

118 


THE  COMIC  POETS  OF  GREECE. 


119 


place  to  place,  on  carts,  bis  company  of  buffoons,  tbeir  faces 
being  smeared  with  the  lees  of  wine,  instead  of  being  con¬ 
cealed  by  masks,  as  in  the  tragic  performance.  To  Susarion 
also  is  given  the  credit  of  organizing  the  rude  buffooneries 
of  the  country  revelers  into  something  approaching  the  dra¬ 
matic  form,  and  of  originating  Comedy,  properly  so  called. 
To  what  extent,  however,  he  deserved  this  credit,  or  what 
was  the  nature  of  his  subjects,  we  are  quite  ignorant, 
though  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  adopted  the  met¬ 
rical  form  of  language,  and,  of  course,  a  more  orderly 
composition. 

Eighty  years  passed  before  comedy  made  any  further 
visible  progress.  Athens  was  then  under  the  long  tyranny 
of  Pisistratus  and  his  sons,  who  were  little  likely  to  permit 
a  comic  chorus  to  utter  its  free  satires  before  the  assembled 
people  of  Athens. 

But  Athens  became  once  more  free,  and  the  comic  spirit 
immediately  revived.  Nor  had  it  remained  quite  unchanged 
in  the  hands  of  the  rural  Bacchanalians,  to  whom  it  had 
been  confined.  For  when  it  again  appeared  its  dramatic 
form  was  fully  developed. 

We  are  given  the  names  of  Myl'lus,  Chion'ides,  Mag'nes, 
and  several  others,  as  the  revivers  of  the  long-restrained 
art.  At  the  same  period  Epichar'mus,  Phor'mis  and 
Dinorochus,  of  Sicily,  commenced  their  career  as  comic 
poets  in  their  native  island,  and,  according  to  Aristotle, 
so  far  surpassed  the  writers  of  Attica  as  to  be  considered 
by  all  antiquity  the  founders  of  the  regular  Greek  comic 
drama.  We  possess  the  titles  of  about  forty  of  the  comedies 
of  Epicharmus,  which  bore  such  names  as  The  Banditti, 
The  Cliatterlings ,  The  Pedagogues ,  The  Potters,  etc. 

While  these  Sicilian  writers  were  thus  giving  form  to 
the  Dorian  comic  drama,  the'  old  Attic  comedy  was  rapidly 
developing  in  Athens,  and  in  the  hands  of  three  successive 


120  THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 

m 

dramatists,  Crati'nus,  Eu'polis  and  Aristoph'anes,  it  reached 
its  height  of  perfection. 

Of  this  first  school  of  comedy  the  characteristic  feature 
is  personality.  It  is  totally  unlike  modern  comedy,  being 
loose  in  structure  and  incomplete  in  plot;  and  depending 
for  its  effect  on  ludicrous  situations,  satirical  attacks  on  the 
vices,  and  witty  allusions  to  the  follies  of  the  day.  Much 
of  the  humor  depends  on  practical  jokes,  and  of  the  wit  on 
representation  and  ridicule  of  real  personages.  From  these 
virulent  attacks  no  one  was  safe.  Not  only  public  char¬ 
acters  were  assailed,  but  private  as  well.  Alike  the  secrets 
of  domestic  life,  and  the  faults  of  the  public  administration, 
were  fair  game  for  these  unsparing  critics.  No  man,  how¬ 
ever  virtuous  and  patriotic,  no  law,  however  time-honored, 
no  leader,  however  popular  and  powerful,  was  secure  from 
the  biting  sarcasm,  the  abuse  and  slander  of  these  self- 
constituted  censors. 

Fostered  as  the  free  spirit  of  comedy  was  by  the  delight 
it  afforded,  and  the  patronage  it  received  from  a  sovereign 
people,  who  were  keenly  alive  to  every  witty  allusion  and 
stroke  of  satire,  it  neither  spared  the  vices  nor  flattered  the 
follies  of  its  patrons.  Like  those  of  the  court  fool  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  its  most  biting  jests  were  received  with  good 
humor,  and  welcomed  by  its  supporters,  even  though  them¬ 
selves  might  feel  the  sting  of  these  satires. 

Yet,  despite  this  popular  favor,  its  extreme  personality 
eventually  provoked  the  interference  of  the  law.  But 
during  the  reign  of  the  Old  Comedy,  the  poet’s  will  was  a 
law  unto  himself,  and,  to  a  great  extent,  a  controlling  force 
with  the  people. 

Crati'nus,  the  first  of  these  three  dramatists,  w*as  born  in 
Athens,  519  b.c.  Of  his  personal  history  we  only  know  that 
he  was  past  sixty-five  years  of  age  before  he  commenced 
writing  comedies,  and  that  out  of  twenty-one  plays 
offered,  he  gained  nine  prizes.  Otherwise  he  was  noted  for 


ARISTOPHANES. 


121 


his  extreme  love  of  wine,  a  failing  to  which  his  countrymen 
were  very  much  addicted. 

It  was  he  that  first  made  comedy  so  terrible  a  weapon 
of  personal  attack.  He  assailed  the  highest  and  lowest 
with  equal  effrontery,  and  in  the  plainest  language.  Thus 
Pericles  was  the  object  of  his  most  vehement  abuse,  while 
on  Cimon  he  bestowed  the  highest  praise;  his  boldness  thus 
being  matched  by  his  discrimination. 

Eu'polis  was  born  in  Athens,  446  b.c.  His  first  comedy 
was  represented  429  b.c.,  when  he  was  but  seventeen  years 
of  age.  He  was  equally  personal  with  his  predecessor, 
praising  Pericles,  however,  and  accusing  Cimon  of  debasing 
vices. 

With  this  brief  glance  at  the  earlier  writers,  we  now 
turn  to  the  choicest  spirit  of  Greek  comedy,  and  the  only 
one  of  these  earlier  comedians  of  whom  we  possess  any 
works.  It  might  give  us  a  higher  estimate  of  the  powers 
of  his  rivals  if  we  possessed,  for  instance,  the  Bottle  of 
Cratinus,  in  which  he  defended  his  indulgence  in  wine,  and 
took  the  first  prize  from  the  Clouds  of  Aristophanes;  or 
some  of  the  works  of  Ameip'sias,  who  triumphed  over  the 
Birds  and  other  comedies  of  his  great  contemporary. 

ARISTOPH'ANES. 

BORN  ABOUT  444  B.C. 

Of  the  personal  history  of  this  celebrated  writer  we  have 
very  little  knowledge.  Plato,  in  his  Symposium ,  relates 
that  he  was  fond  of  pleasure,  a  statement  we  can  well 
credit  when  we  consider  the  tendencies  of  his  profession 
in  all  ages.  That  he  was  honest  and  independent  in  spirit 
we  know,  from  his  fearless  attacks  on  the  political  vices  of 
his  day. 

He  appeared  as  a  comic  writer  in  the  fourth  year  of  the 
Peloponnesian  war,  427  b.c.,  with  a  piece  called  the  Ban - 


122 


the  literature  op  Greece. 


queters ,  which  won  for  him  the  second  prize.  It  ridiculed 
the  follies  of  extravagance,  and,  like  all  his  works,  displayed 
a  contempt  for  the  existing  manners  and  customs,  and  an 
admiration  for  the  olden  times  and  sentiments. 

It  was  followed  by  the  Babylonians ,  in  which  he  criti¬ 
cised  Cle'on,  then  the  most  popular  politician  in  the  city,  so 
sharply  that  the  latter  tried  to  deprive  him  of  his  citizen¬ 
ship,  by  declaring  that  he  was  not  a  born  Athenian.  In 
425  b.c.,  the  Achar'nians  gained  the  first  prize.  It  was 
written  to  expose  the  madness  of  the  war  between  Athens 
and  Sparta,  and  exhibits  the  feelings  of  the  peace  party. 

In  424  he  exhibited  the  Knights,  the  first  piece  pro¬ 
duced  in  his  own  name.  It  is  remarkably  bold  in  its  attack 
upon  Cleon,  presenting  him  as  a  vulgar  and  insolent  charla¬ 
tan,  and  the  people  under  the  guise  of  a  cunning,  credulous 
and  stupid  householder.  He  did  not  attack  Cleon  by  name, 
as  he  did  many  others,  but  he  pointed  him  out  in  the  most 
direct  manner.  It  is  related  that  no  actor  dared  to  play 
this  character,  and  that  Aristophanes  himself  assumed  it. 

In  423  appeared  the  Clouds ,  which  makes  a  virulent  at¬ 
tack  on  Socrates,  as  the  most  prominent  of  the  new  philo¬ 
sophical  school,  to  which  our  strongly  conservative  author 
was  violently  opposed.  It  is  believed  that  this  dramatic 
satire  led  to  that  persecution  of  Socrates  which,  twenty 
years  later,  culminated  in  his  condemnation  and  death. 

The  Knights  and  the  Clouds  are  his  two  most  famous 
comedies.  They  display  in  overflowing  richness  that  fancy, 
wit,  humor,  satire  and  shrewd  insight  which  characterize 
this  greatest  of  all  Greek  comic  writers. 

Others  of  his  works  are,  the  Wasps,  in  which  the  popu¬ 
lar  courts  of  justice  are  attacked;  the  Peace ,  which  ridi¬ 
cules  the  Peloponnesian  war  ;  the  Frogs ,  which  satirizes 
Euripides;  Amphi  araus  and  the  Birds,  both  of  which  cari¬ 
cature  the  Sicilian  expedition;  Lysis’ trata,  which  exhibits  a 
civil  war  of  the  sexes;  and  Plu'tus  and  Ecclesia' zusce,  which 


ARISTOPHANES. 


123 


assail  the  new  passion  for  Doric  institutions,  and  ridicule 
the  political  theories  of  Plato. 

The  comedies  of  Aristophanes  are  essentially  different 
from  our  modern  ideas  of  comedy.  They  partake  much 
more  of  the  nature  of  burlesque,  mingled  with  a  vigorous 
farcical  element,  and  with  many  features  of  plot  and  inci¬ 
dent  that  would  seem  to  us  mere  childishness,  but  which 
appear  to  have  delighted  the  Athenian  audiences. 

His  choruses  sometimes  exhibit  the  purest  spirit  of  poetry, 
while  the  ingenuity  which  he  displays  in  the  mechanical 
artifices  of  verse  is  wonderful.  Frogs  are  made  to  croak 
choruses,  pigs  to  grunt  through  a  series  of  iambics,  and 
words  are  coined  of  amazing  length  —  the  Ecclesiazusce 
closes  with  one  composed  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  letters. 

It  must  be  added  that  the  personalities  of  Aristophanes 
sometimes  descend  into  coarseness  and  indecenc}^  and  that 
even  the  gods  whom  he  undertakes  to  defend  are  treated 
with  levity,  and  placed  in  the  most  ludicrous  lights. 

He  supplied  the  dramatic  festivals  with  comedies  for  at 
least  thirty-seven  years  (from  b.c.  427  to  390);  but  of  the 
forty  plays  which  he  is  known  to  have  produced  but  eleven 
are  extant.  These  are  the  plays  named  above,  with  the 
exception  of  the  Banqueters  and  the  Babylonians ,  which  are 
lost. 

For  those  preserved,  according  to  ancient  tradition,  we 
are  indebted  to  no  less  likely  a  person  than  St.  John  Chrys¬ 
ostom.  That  worthy  father  of  the  church  is  said  to  have 
so  greatly  admired  the  plays  of  Aristophanes  that  he  slept 
with  a  manuscript  of  them  under  his  pillow. 

The  Knights  is  among  the  most  bitterly  personal  of  his 
plays.  He  here  tries  to  keep  his  promise,  made  the  previous 
year,  that  “  he  would  cut  up  Cleon  the  tanner  into  shoe 
leather  for  the  Knights,”  by  assailing  his  enemy  with  all 
his  wit  and  merciless  satire. 

The  principal  character  in  the  play  is  “Demus” — i.e. 


124 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


People;  and  the  satire  is  directed  against  the  facility  with 
which  he  allows  himself  to  be  gulled  by  those  who  are 
nominally  his  servants,  but  really  his  masters  —  those  noisy 
and  corrupt  demagogues  who  rule  him  for  their  own  selfish 
ends.  The  Knights,  as  in  the  title  of  nearly  all  his  plays, 
form  the  chorus  of  the  piece. 

“  People  ”  is  a  rich  householder,  who  employs  a  sort  of 
major-domo  to  manage  his  business  and  look  after  his  slaves. 
This  man  is  known  as  the  “Tanner”  (an  indirect  way  of 
naming  Cleon),  and  is  an  unprincipled,  lying  rascal,  fawn¬ 
ing  to  his  master,  and  bullying  to  his  fellow  slaves. 

They,  out  of  revenge  for  being  beaten,  bring  forward  a 
“Black  Pudding  Seller”  as  candidate  for  the  place  occupied 
by  the  Tanner.  This  new  candidate  is  given  to  understand 
that  he  shall  be  master  of  all  Athens,  and  finally  accepts 
the  offer. 

The  representative  of  Cleon  comes  upon  the  stage,  and 
the  chorus  of  Knights  assails  him  in  the  following  chant: — 

“  Close  around  him,  and  confound  him,  the  confounder  of  us  all ! 

Pelt  him,  pummel  him,  and  maul  him  —  rummage,  ransack,  over¬ 
haul  him! 

Overbear  him  and  outbawl  him ;  bear  him  down  and  bring  him 
under ! 

Bellow  like  a  burst  of  thunder  —  robber,  harpy,  sink  of  plunder! 

Rogue  and  villain!  rogue  and  cheat!  rogue  and  villain!  I  repeat; 

Oftener  than  I  can  repeat  it  has  the  rogue  and  villain  cheated. 

Close  upon  him  left  and  right  —  spit  upon  him,  spurn  and  smite; 

Spit  upon  him  as  you  see;  spurn  and  spit  at  him,  like  me.” 

— Frere. 

They  hustle  the  Tanner,  who  calls  in  vain  for  his  parti¬ 
sans.  A  war  of  billingsgate  ensues  between  him  and  the 
Pudding  Seller,  in  which  the  latter  proves  himself  an  adept. 
The  delighted  chorus  sings:  “There  is  something  hotter, 
after  all,  than  fire  —  a  more  consummate  blackguard  has 
been  found  than  Cleon.” 

Blows  follow  words,  and  the  Tanner  is  defeated,  threat- 


ARISTOPHANES. 


125 


ening  vengeance,  and  challenging  his  antagonist  to  meet 
him  before  the  Senate.  After  considerable  more  of  this 
sparring,  in  which  the  Senate,  the  people,  and  Cleon,  are 
all  severely  satirized,  the  two  candidates  are  brought  be¬ 
fore  Demus — i.e.,  the  Assembly  of  the  People. 

Each  at  once  attempts  to  win  him  over  by  bribery.  The 
Pudding  Seller  finds  that  old  Demus  is  almost  barefoot,  and 
exclaims: 

“Tell  me  whether 

You,  that  pretend  yourself  his  friend,  with  all  your  wealth  in 
leather, 

Ever  supplied  a  single  hide  to  mend  his  reverend,  battered 
Old  buskins? 

Devi .  No,  not  he,  by  Jove;  look  at  them,  burst  and  tattered. 
Pud .  That  shows  the  man!  now  spick  and  span,  behold  my 
noble  largess! 

A  lovely  pair,  bought  for  your  wear,  at  my  own  cost  and  charges. 
Dem.  I  see  your  mind  is  well  inclined,  with  views  and  temper 
suiting, 

To  place  the  state  of  things — and  toes — upon  a  proper  footing.” 

— Frere. 

In  this  giving  of  gifts  the  new  candidate  proves  to  be 
the  most  open-handed.  From  open  bribery  they  proceed 
to  more  concealed  corruption.  Cleon  quotes  oracles  that 
will  make  his  master  sovereign  of  all  Greece,  and  crown 
him  with  roses.  Pudding  promises  him  Thrace  also,  a 
golden  crown,  and  a  robe  of  spangles.  Cleon  declares  that 
he  has  a  trunk ful  more  of  prophecies  at  home.  Pudding 
has  a  garret  and  two  outhouses  full  of  them. 

They  proceed  to  read  the  most  absurd  parodies  on  the 
oracles.  As  Pudding  is  still  the  winner,  Cleon  tries  the 
effect  of  savory  messes  on  his  hungry  master,  in  which  also 
his  rival  emulates  him. 

“ Dem .  Well,  truly,  indeed,  I  shall  be  feasted  rarely ; 

My  courtiers  and  admirers  will  quite  spoil  me. 

Cleon.  There,  I’m  the  first,  you  see,  to  bring  you  a  chair. 


126 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Pud.  But  a  table  —  here,  I’ve  brought  it  first  and  foremost. 

Cleon.  See  here,  this  little  half-meal  cake  from  Pylos, 

Made  from  the  flour  of  victory  and  success! 

Pud.  But  here’s  a  cake!  see  here!  which  the  heavenly  goddess 
Patted  and  flatted  herself,  with  her  ivory  hand, 

For  your  own  eating. 

Dern.  Wonderful,  mighty  goddess! 

What  an  awfully  large  hand  she  must  have  had !  ” — Frere. 

And  so  the  contest  goes  on.  Every  phase  of  bribery  and 
corruption  in  the  politicians,  and  of  greed  and  stupidity 
in  the  people,  is  openly  parodied.  The  representative  of 
Cleon  is  finally  defeated  by  the  new  candidate  for  place  and 
favor,  after  being  belabored  by  the  broadest  charges  of 
fraud,  theft  and  corruption  that  were  ever  openly  laid 
against  any  public  character. 

What  was  the  result?  The  play  gained  the  first  prize  by 
acclamation,  the  satire  on  the  sovereign  people  was  for¬ 
given,  and  —  Cleon  remained  in  as  great  favor  as  ever. 
Such  was  Athenian  consistency. 

We  have  given  this  concise  account  of  the  plot  of  the 
Knights  to  show  the  general  character  of  the  old  Grecian 
comedies,  and  the  burlesque  incident  and  bitter  personality 
which  pervades  them. 

We  make  the  following  extracts  from  the  Clouds. 

“  Strep  siades.  But  wlio  hangs  dangling  in  the  basket  yonder? 

Student.  Himself. 

Str.  And  who’s  Himself? 

Stud.  Why,  Socrates. 

Str.  Ho,  Socrates! — call  him,  you  fellow — call  loud. 

Stud.  Call  him  yourself.  I’ve  got  no  time  for  calling. 

Str.  Ho,  Socrates!  Sweet,  darling  Socrates! 

Socrates.  Why  callest  thou  me,  poor  creature  of  a  day? 

Str.  First  tell  me,  pray,  what  are  you  doing  up  there? 

Soc.  I  walk  in  air,  and  contemplate  the  sun. 

Str.  Oh,  that's  the  way  that  you  despise  the  Gods  — 

You  get  so  near  them  on  your  perch  there  —  eh? 

Soc,  I  never  could  have  found  out  things  divine, 


ARISTOPHANES. 


127 


Had  I  not  hung  my  mind  up  there,  and  mixed 
My  subtle  intellect  with  its  kindred  air. 

Had  I  regarded  such  things  from  below, 

I  had  learnt  nothing.  For  the  earth  absorbs 
Into  itself  the  moisture  of  the  brain. 

It  is  the  very  same  case  with  water-cresses. 

Str.  Dear  me!  So  wrater-cresses  grow  by  thinking!” 

—  Collins. 

Here  is  a  series  of  questions  between  the  Just  and  the 
Unjust  Arguments,  burlesquing  the  style  of  Socrates. 

“Unjust  A.  Come  now  —  from  what  class  do  our  lawyers  spring  ? 
Just  A.  Well  —  from  the  blackguards. 

Unj.  A.  I  believe  you.  Tell  me 
Again,  what  are  our  tragic  poets? 

Just.  A.  Blackguards. 

Unjust  A.  Good;  and  our  public  orators? 

Just.  A.  Blackguards  all. 

Unj.  A.  D’ye  see  now,  how  absurd  and  utterly  worthless 
Your  arguments  have  been?  And  now  look  round.  ( Turning  to 
the  audience.) 

Which  class  among  our  friends  here  seem  most  numerous? 

Just.  A.  I’m  looking. 

Unj.  A.  Well;  now  tell  me  what  you  see. 

Just.  A.  ( After  gi'avely  and  attentively  examining  the  rows  of  spec¬ 
tators.)  The  blackguards  have  it  by  a  large  majority. 

There’s  one  I  know — and  yonder  there’s  another  — 

And  there,  again,  that  fellow  with  long  hair.” — Collins. 

No  doubt  the  Athenians  laughed  heartily  at  this  broad 
fooling.  They  were  by  no  means  thin-skinned  in  their 
enjoyment  of  a  joke.  Such  a  jest  would  hardly  prove 
agreeable  to  a  modern  audience. 

We  close  with  the  following  free  translation  from  the 
Woman1  s  Festival ,  which  might  well  pass  for  a  ditty  of 
later  times  than  the  days  of  old  Greece. 

“  They’re  always  abusing  the  women, 

As  a  terrible  plague  to  men ; 

They  say  we’re  the  root  of  all  evil, 


128 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


And  repeat  it  again  and  again; 

Of  war,  and  quarrels,  and  bloodshed, 

All  mischief,  be  what  it  may; 

And  pray,  then,  why  do  you  marry  us, 

If  we’re  all  the  plagues  you  say? 

And  why  do  you  take  such  care  of  us, 

And  keep  us  so  safe  at  home, 

And  are  never  easy  a  moment, 

If  ever  we  chance  to  roam? 

When  you  ought  to  be  thanking  Heaven 
That  your  Plague  is  out  of  the  way, 

You  all  keep  fussing  and  fretting  — 

‘Where  is  my  Plague  to-day?’ 

If  a  .Plague  peeps  out  of  the  window, 

Up  go  the  eyes  of  the  men; 

If  she  hides,  then  they  all  keep  staring 

Until  she  looks  out  again.”  — Collins. 


THE  MIDDLE  AND  NEW  COMEDY. 


After  the  long  Peloponnesian  war,  which  so  fatally 
depressed  the  power  and  glory  of  Attica,  the  city  of  Minerva 
retained  its  democracy,  and  regained  a  portion  of  its 
naval  supremacy.  But  it  was  no  longer  the  Athens  of 
old, —  no  longer  the  home  of  those  active,  energetic,  restless 
spirits  that  kept  the  government  toned  up  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  public  vigor,  and  cherished  with  such  warm  delight 
and  acute  judgment  the  works  of  their  unrivaled  galaxy 
of  artistic  and  literary  geniuses.  The  old  fire  had  died 
out,  or  but  a  glimmer  of  it  survived.  The  fierce  satire 
of  Aristophanes  would  no  longer  have  suited  this  degener¬ 
ated  people,  whose  souls  had  ceased  to  display  that  active 
interest  in  public  affairs  which  had  formerly  distinguished 
them.  A  race  which  has  sunk  into  indolence  and  love  of 
pleasure,  and  winks  at  or  takes  part  in  public  corruption, 
does  not  invite  and  can  hardly  endure  the  keen  exposure 
of  its  follies  and  vices  shown  by  a  great  satiric  dramatist. 
It  is  only  with  those  who  are  eager  for  reform  that  the 
literature  of  reform  arises. 

In  the  Middle  Comedy,  which  flourished  during  this 
period,  we  find  the  bitter  personality  of  the  Old  Comedy 
replaced  by  a  new  spirit.  Some  of  its  critical  and  satiric 
tone  is  retained,  but  it  ceases  to  attack  individuals,  and  makes 
its  assaults  on  the  vices  and  follies  of  classes. 

In  this  respect  it  seems  more  like  a  transition  from  the 
Sicilian  comedy  of  Epicharrnus  than  a  development  of  the 
old  Attic  drama.  It  has  ceased,  indeed,  to  be  a  political 

weapon  of  offense,  and  devotes  itself  to  philosophical  and 

139 


130  THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 

literary  criticism,  satirizing  the  works  of  rival  authors 
instead  of  the  vices  of  politicians. 

Nor  is  this  satire  of  a  personal  character,  like  that 
aimed  at  Socrates  and  Euripides  by  Aristophanes.  It  is 
rather  a  contest  of  schools  of  philosophy  and  rhetoric, 
attacking  alike  the  ideas  of  Plato,  the  Pythagorean  acad¬ 
emy,  the  orators,  the  works  of  tragic  and  epic  poets,  etc. 

The  poets  of  this  school  were  very  numerous,  and  many 
of  them  of  considerable  celebrity  in  their  day;  though  their 
fame  has  not  withstood  the  fatal  touchstone  of  time,  and 
of  their  works  there  remains  but  an  occasional  fragment. 

The  most  noted  of  them  were  Eubu'lus,  Anaxan'drides 
and  Antiph'anes,  which  latter  prolific  author  is  said  to  have 
written  two  hundred  and  ninety  plays,  or  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  according  to  some  authorities.  We  may  also 
name  Epic'rates,  born  404  b.c.,  and  Alex'is,  394  b.c.,  as 
among  the  notable  later  writers  of  this  school. 

In  the  New  Comedy,  which  succeeded  at  a  later  period, 
there  were  also  numerous  writers,  prolific  in  their  labors 
and  elegant  in  style,  yet  no  more  enduring  in  fame  than 
their  predecessors  of  the  Middle  Comedy. 

This  school  of  comedy  flourished  from  about  the  acces¬ 
sion  of  Alexander,  336  b.c.,  to  the  death  of  Menander,  the 
most  famous  of  its  writers,  291  b.c. 

In  character  the  New  Comedy  more  nearly  approaches 
our  modern  ideas  of  comedy  than  either  of  the  preceding 
schools.  It  has  been  described  as  the  Old  Comedy  tamed 
down.  The  wild  spirit  of  mirth  is  restrained,  and  much 
more  earnestness  infused  into  its  tone.  In  this  respect  it 
often  assumes  the  seriousness  of  tragedy.  In  style,  indeed, 
it  is  more  like  an  aftergrowth  of  the  spirit  of  Euripides 
than  a  development  of  the  comedy  of  the  past. 

It  is  not  without  its  sportive  spirit,  but  is,  like  our 
modern  comedy,  a  mixture  of  sport  and  earnest,  instead  of 


MENANDER. 


131 


the  bubbling  and  overflowing  fun  and  unbounded  satire 
of  the  older  comedians. 

Among  the  chief  writers  of  this  school  we  may  name 
Menan'der,  Phile'mon,  Diph'ilus,  Apollodo'rus,  Philip  pides 
and  Posidip'pus. 

Of  the  numerous  works  of  these  writers  nothing  re¬ 
mains  but  a  few  fragments,  and  among  them  all  Menander 
is  the  only  one  who  achieved  any  exalted  fame. 

MENAN'DER. 

BORN  342  B.C. 

This  distinguished  writer  was  a  native  of  Athens.  Of 
his  claims  to  distinction  his  personal  beauty  is  quite  as 
much  commented  upon  as  his  literary  ability.  Several 
sculptors  took  him  for  their  subject,  and  he  is  represented 
in  existing  works  of  sculpture  now  in  the  Vatican. 

Very  little  is  known  of  his  life.  He  was  expelled  from 
Athens  for  his  friendly  relations  with  Demetrius  Phalereus, 
and  narrowly  escaped  death  at  the  hands  of  the  enemies 
of  this  personage.  He  went  thence  to  the  court  of  Ptolemy 
Lagus,  at  Alexandria,  then  the  most  congenial  home  of  the 
poetic  fraternity.  He  finally  met  his  death  by  drowning, 
while  bathing  in  the  Piae'rian  harbor. 

Menander  was  a  prolific  writer,  exhibiting  in  all  one 
hundred  and  nine  comedies.  Yet,  despite  his  later  fame, 
he  was  very  unsuccessful  in  winning  the  favor  of  his  fickle 
countrymen,  only  eight  of  these  plays  gaining  the  first  prize. 

This  may  possibly  be  attributed  to  the  changed  character 
of  the  Athenians,  who  had  lost  their  relish  for  the  elegance 
which  pervaded  the  works  of  our  author,  and  preferred  the 
coarse  allusions  of  his  contemporaries.  Menander  is  said 
to  have  remarked  to  Philemon,  one  of  his  rivals,  in  pointed 
reference  to  the  lack  of  refined  feeling  in  the  works  of  the 


132 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


latter:  “Pray,  Philemon,  why  do  you  not  blush  when  you 
gain  a  victory  over  me?” 

Menander  has  been  as  unfortunate  as  his  contemporaries 
in  regard  to  the  preservation  of  his  works,  of  which  only 
disconnected  fragments  remain.  Nor  do  these  show  the 

O 

character  we  should  expect  from  the  remarks  of  ancient 
writers.  They  yield  us  none  of  the  vivid  love  scenes  at¬ 
tributed  to  him  by  Ovid,  nor  the  voluptuous  descriptions 
mentioned  by  Pliny;  but,  on  the  contrary,  are  melancholy 
in  tone,  and  devoted  to  descriptions  of  human  sorrows  and 
repinings. 

We  extract  the  following  example,  which  is  pervaded  by 
the  most  misanthropic  spirit. 

“Suppose  some  god  should  say:  ‘Die  when  thou  wilt, 
Mortal,  expect  another  life  on  earth, 

And  for  that  life  make  choice  of  all  creation 
What  thou  wilt  be:  dog,  sheep,  goat,  man,  or  horse; 

For  live  again  thou  must;  it  is  thy  fate: 

Choose  only  in  what  form;  there  thou  art  free.’ 

So  help  me,  Crato,  I  would  fairly  answer: 

‘Let  me  be  all  things,  anything,  but  man! 

He  only,  of  all  creatures,  feels  affliction. 

The  generous  horse  is  valued  for  his  worth; 

And  dog  by  merit  is  preferred  to  dog; 

The  warrior  cock  is  pampered  for  his  courage, 

And  awes  the  baser  brood.  But  what  is  man? 

Truth,  virtue,  valor,  how  do  they  avail  him  ? 

Of  this  world’s  goods  the  first  and  greatest  share 
Is  flattery’s  prize;  the  informer  takes  the  next; 

And  bare-faced  knavery  garbles  what  is  left. 

I’d  rather  be  an  ass  than  what  I  am 

And  see  these  villains  lord  it  o’er  their  betters.” 

— Cumberland. 

As  other  examples  of  Menander’s  manner  we  give  the 
following. 

“Ne’er  trust  me,  Phanias,  but  I  thought,  till  now, 

That  you  rich  fellows  had  the  knack  of  sleeping 


MENANDER. 


133 


A  good  sound  nap,  that  held  you  for  the  night; 

And  not  like  us  poor  rogues  that  toss  and  turn, 
Sighing  ‘All  me!’  and  grumbling  at  our  duns. 

But  now  I  find,  in  spite  of  all  your  money, 

You  rest  no  better  than  your  needy  neighbors, 

And  sorrow  is  the  common  lot  of  all.” — Cumberland. 

ALL  ARE  MORTAL. 

“If  you  would  know  of  what  frail  stuff  you’re  made, 
Go  to  the  tombs  of  the  illustrious  dead: 

There  rest  the  bones  of  kings;  there  tyrants  rot; 
There  sleep  the  rich,  the  noble  and  the  wise; 

There  pride,  ambition,  beauty’s  fairest  form, 

All  dust  alike,  compound  one  common  mass; 

Reflect  on  this;  and  in  them  see  yourself.” 

EPIGRAMS. 

“You  say,  not  always  wisely,  Know  thyself! 

Know  others,  ofttimes  is  the  better  maxim.” 

“Abundance  is  a  blessing  to  the  wise; 

The  use  of  riches  in  discretion  lies.” 

“Learn  this,  you  men  of  wealth  —  a  heavy  purse 
In  a  fool’s  pocket  is  a  heavy  curse.” 

“What  pity  ’tis,  when  happy  Nature  rears 
A  noble  pile,  that  fortune  should  o’ertlirow  it.” 

“  Of  all  bad  things  with  which  mankind  are  cursed 
Their  own  bad  tempers  surely  are  the  worst.” 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  HISTORY. 


History,  in  any  full  and  credible  sense,  may  be  said  to 
have  been  born  with  Herodotus,  in  the  fifth  century  before 
the  Christian  era.  There  remain  historical  fragments,  di¬ 
luted  with  a  plentiful  admixture  of  fable,  of  the  other 
ancient  nations;  but  only  of  Greece,  or  of  surrounding 
nations  in  the  works  of  Grecian  historians,  have  we  any 
detailed  and  trustworthy  accounts. 

The  annals  of  China,  for  instance,  flow  down  from  in¬ 
credible  antiquity  through  a  region  of  fable,  which  every¬ 
where  clouds  the  clear  waters  of  truth.  The  same  may  be 
said  of  India,  Persia,  Assyria,  Phoenicia  and  Egypt,  and, 
indeed,  of  Greece  in  the  period  preceding  Herodotus. 

The  ruins  of  ancient  cities,  the  stories  told  by  temples 
and  tombs,  the  hieroglyphic  inscriptions  on  the  monuments 
of  Egypt,  and  the  cuneiform  records  on  the  clay  tablets  of 
Assyria,  afford  us  some  scanty  knowledge  of  the  earlier 
annals  of  this  busy  section  of  the  old  world,  and  in  the 
writings  of  the  Hebrew  historians  we  are  given  very  valu¬ 
able  side  glimpses  into  the  life  of  the  great  kingdoms  sur¬ 
rounding. 

These  fragmentary  sources  have  partly  opened  to  us  the 
annals  of  that  remote  past,  though  they  give  us  but  a 
broken  and  distorted  view.  Of  historians  of  that  dimly- 
visible  period,  outside  of  the  Old  Testament  chronicles,  we 
possess  but  a  few  names,  and  the  barest  fragments  of  their 
works.  Thus  there  is  a  very  doubtful  record,  said  to  have 
been  made  by  one  Sanchoni'athon  from  Phoenician  official 

documents,  of  the  early  history  of  Phoenicia  and  Egypt. 

134 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  HISTORY. 


135 


His  period  is  given  at  1250  b.c.,  but  if  there  is  any  authen¬ 
ticity  in  his  history  at  all,  this  date  is  probably  many  cen¬ 
turies  too  remote. 

A  Greek  version  of  this  history  was  made  by  Phi'lo  of 
Byblus,  and  from  this  we  possess  a  fragment  preserved  by 
Euse'bius.  But  there  is  no  historical  interest  in  the  frayed 
remnant  of  cosmogony  which  is  all  that  remains  of  this 
much-disputed  record. 

Menan'der  of  Eph  esus,  and  Dius,  a  Phoenician,  are  said 
to  have  written  histories  of  Tyre,  compiled  from  Tyrian 
annals.  Fragments  of  their  works  remain  in  Josephus  and 
other  ancient  historians.  A  much  more  valuable  historical 
work,  however,  is  that  written  by  Bero'sus,  a  Babylonian 
priest,  who  lived  about  260  b.c.  This  was  a  history  of  the 
Babylonian  empire,  compiled  from  the  oldest  temple  ar¬ 
chives,  and  was  highly  esteemed  by  Grecian  and  Roman 
historians.  It  has,  unfortunately,  been  lost,  with  the  ex¬ 
ception  of  fragments  preserved  by  Josephus,  Eusebius  and 
other  writers.  But  these  fragments  are  of  great  value,  as 
they  relate  to  the  most  obscure  portion  of  Asiatic  history. 

Egypt  possessed  a  historian  of  equal  value  in  Man'etho, 
who  wrote  in  the  reign  of  Ptolemy  I.  Extracts  from  his 
work  have  been  preserved  by  Josephus,  and  an  epitome 
made  by  Eusebius  and  other  ecclesiastical  writers.  His 
history  is  divided  into  three  books,  the  first  principally 
relating  to  the  mythical  period,  which  is  estimated  at  over 
24,000  years  in  duration,  the  others  devoted  to  the  his¬ 
torical  reigns. 

What  we  possess  of  his  work  is  a  set  of  chronological 
tables  of  the  various  reigns  and  dynasties.  In  these  there 
are  certain  discrepancies,  and  they  make  the  origin  of  the 
Egyptian  monarchy  so  very  remote  that  their  correctness 
has  been  severely  questioned.  Late  evidence,  however,  de¬ 
rived  from  papyri  and  from  the  monuments,  goes  far  to 
sustain  the  reliability  of  the  lists  of  Manetho. 


136 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Such  are  the  principal  sources  of  ancient  history  an¬ 
terior  to  and  contemporary  with  the  Greek  authors.  The 
works  of  Manetho  and  Berosus,  which  were  both  written  in 
Greek,  were  later  in  date  than  the  famous  Athenian  writers. 
The  first  Grecian  historians  of  whom  we  have  any  trust¬ 
worthy  accounts  were  those  known  as  the  Ionic  logograph- 
ers.  Of  these  the  most  important  is  Hecataf  us,  who  flour¬ 
ished  about  520  b.c.  Some  fragments  of  his  works  exist. 
Their  geographical  and  historical  value,  however,  is  greatly 
vitiated  by  the  myths  and  fables  with  which  they  abound. 
Other  names  are  Glia' ron,  who  seems  to  have  been  a  volu¬ 
minous  writer;  Xan'thus,  and  Hellani'eus,  who  was  born 
482  b.c.  But  the  first  name  of  marked  value  among  these 
Ionic  authors  is  Herodotus,  of  whom  we  must  give  a  more 
detailed  account. 


HEROD' OTUS. 

BORN  484  B.C. 

Herodotus,  the  earliest  extant  classical  historian,  —  for 
which  reason  he  is  usually  styled  the  “  Father  of  History  ” — 
was  born  at  Halicarnas'sus,  in  Caria,  484  b.c.  He  was  of  a 
noble  family,  and  is  said  to  have  left  his  native  city  in  dis¬ 
gust  at  the  tyranny  of  Lyg'damis,  its  ruler.  He  retired  to 
the  island  of  Samos,  where  he  accpiired  the  Ionic  dialect,  in 
which  his  history  was  afterward  composed. 

The  project  of  writing  a  historical  work  on  an  extensive 
scale  appears  to  have  early  taken  root  in  his  mind,  and  with 
this  intent  he  undertook  a  series  of  travels,  in  which  he  vis¬ 
ited  every  part  of  Greece  and  its  dependencies;  afterward  ex¬ 
plored  Egypt,  Palestine  and  Phoenicia;  and  finally  penetrated 
as  far  east  as  Babylon  and  Susa.  He  also  sailed  through  the 
Hellespont,  and  visited  all  the  countries  bordering  on  the 
Black  Sea.  In  these  travels  he  minutely  investigated  the 
history,  manners  and  customs  of  the  people,  with  a  patient 
observation  remarkable  for  that  early  age. 


HERODOTUS. 


137 


On  his  return  from  his  travels  he  took  a  prominent  part 
in  delivering  his  native  city  from  the  tyranny  of  Lyg'damis. 
But  his  political  views  not  quite  pleasing  the  popular  party 
at  Halicarnassus,  he  again  left  that  city,  and  settled,  along 
with  a  colony  from  Athens,  at  Thur'ii,  in  the  south  of  Italy. 
Here  he  probably  wrote  his  immortal  history,  and  he  is  said 
by  Sui'das  to  have  died  here  about  408  b.c.,  though  others 
assert  that  he  died  at  Pella,  in  Macedonia. 

Lucian  states  that,  desirous  of  fame,  he  recited  his  his¬ 
tory  to  the  people  assembled  at  the  Olympic  games,  where 
it  was  received  with  universal  applause,  and  made  him 
famous  throughout  the  states  of  Greece.  This,  however,  is 
contradicted  by  the  fact  that  he  alludes  in  his  history  to 
numerous  events  which  occurred  subsequent  to  the  date 
given  for  this  recital. 

His  history  consists  of  nine  books,  to  which  he  has  given 
the  names  of  the  nine  Muses.  Its  object  is  to  describe  the 
war  between  the  Persians  and  the  Greeks,  in  which  Europe 
and  Asia,  civilization  and  barbarism,  freedom  and  despot¬ 
ism,  fought  for  supremacy.  Herodotus,  perceiving  that  the 
antipathy  between  the  two  races  was  not  the  result  of  an 
accidental  quarrel,  but  of  a  deep-rooted  difference  of  charac¬ 
ter,  indicates  this  by  tracing  its  origin  back  to  the  mythical 
ages.  The  most  valuable  portion  of  his  history  is  the  minute 
description  he  gives  of  the  countries  he  had  himself  visited, 
in  which  he  is  strikingly  accurate  and  impartial.  He  relates 
man}*  things,  also,  on  the  authority  of  others,  and  in  these 
shows  much  more  credulity.  But  he  is  generally  careful  to 
remark  that  he  is  not  personally  responsible  for  these  state¬ 
ments. 

Herodotus  is  considered  excellent  authority  for  the  great 
events  in  Grecian  history  which  happened  during  his  own 
lifetime;  and  his  chronology,  according  to  Newton’s  canons, 
requires  less  correction  than  that  of  any  other  Grecian  his¬ 
torian.  His  method  and  arrangement  are  somewhat  awk- 


138 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


ward  and  discursive,  but  his  style  is  easy,  graceful  and 
flowing,  and  the  language  employed  is  considered  a  model 
of  the  Ionic  dialect.  His  chief  excellence  lies  in  the  lively 
vigor  of  his  narrative,  his  manner  lacking  the  force  and 
conciseness  essential  to  the  philosophical  historian. 

“  Next  to  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,”  says  Colonel  Mure,  “  the 
history  of  Herodotus  is  the  greatest  effort  of  Greek  literary 
genius.  The  one  is  the  perfection  of  epic  poetry;  the  other, 
the  perfection  of  epic  prose.  Were  it  not  for  the  influence 
which  the  prior  existence  of  so  noble  a  model,  even  in  a 
different  branch  of  composition,  has  evidently  exercised  on 
the  historian,  his  title  to  the  palm  of  original  invention 
might  rival  that  of  his  poetical  predecessor.  In  the  com¬ 
plexity  of  the  plan  of  his  history,  as  compared  with  the 
simplicity  of  its  execution;  in  the  multiplicity  and  heteroge¬ 
neous  nature  of  its  materials,  and  in  the  harmony  of  their 
combination;  in  the  grandeur  of  its  historical  masses,  and 
the  minuteness,  often  triviality,  of  its  illustrative  details; 
it  remains  not  only  without  equal,  but  without  rival  or 
parallel,  in  the  literature  of  Greece  or  Europe.” 

A  BABYLONIAN  CUSTOM. 

Of  the  customs  whereof  I  shall  now  proceed  to  give  an  account 
the  following  is  the  wisest,  in  my  judgment  Once  a  year,  in  each 
village,  the  maidens  of  age  to  marry  were  collected  all  together,  in 
one  place;  where  the  men  stood  around  them  in  a  circle.  Then  a 
herald  called  out  the  damsels,  one  by  one,  and  offered  them  for  sale. 

He  began  with  the  most  beautiful.  When  she  was  sold  for  no 
small  sum  of  money,  he  offered  for  sale  the  one  who  came  nearest 
to  her  in  beauty.  All  of  them  were  sold  to  he  wives.  The  richest 
of  the  Babylonians  who  wished  to  wed  bid  against  each  other  for 
the  loveliest  maidens;  while  the  humbler  wife  seekers,  who  were 
indifferent  about  beauty,  took  the  more  homely  damsels,  with  mar¬ 
riage  portions. 

For  the  custom  was  that  when  the  herald  had  gone  through  the 
whole  number  of  the  beautiful,  he  should  then  call  up  the  ugliest 
—  a  cripple,  if  there  chanced  to  be  one  —  and  offer  her  to  the  men, 


HERODOTUS. 


139 


asking  who  would  agree  to  take  her  with  the  smallest  marriage 
portion ;  and  the  man  who  offered  to  take  the  smallest  sum  had 
her  assigned  to  him.  The  marriage  portions  were  furnished  by  the 
money  paid  for  the  beautiful  damsels;  and  thus  the  fairer  maidens 
portioned  out  the  uglier. 

No  one  was  allowed  to  give  his  daughter  in  marriage  to  the 
man  of  his  choice.  Nor  might  any  one  carry  away  a  damsel 
whom  he  had  purchased,  without  finding  bail  really  and  truly  to 
make  her  his  wife.  If,  however,  it  turned  out  that  they  did  not 
agree,  the  money  might  be  paid  back. 

PERSIAN  HABITS. 

It  is  a  very  general  practice  to  deliberate  upon  affairs  of  weight 
when  they  are  drunk;  and  then  on  the  morrow,  when  they  are 
sober,  the  decision  to  which  they  came  —  and  not  before  —  is  put 
before  them  by  the  master  of  the  house  in  which  it  was  made. 
And  if  it  is  then  approved  of,  they  act  upon  it;  if  not,  they  set  it 
aside.  Sometimes,  however,  they  are  sober  at  their  first  delibera¬ 
tion.  But  in  this  case  they  always  reconsider  the  matter  under  the 
influence  of  wine. 

When  they  meet  each  other  in  the  streets  you  may  know  if  the 
persons  meeting  are  of  equal  rank  by  the  following  practice.  If 
they  are,  instead  of  speaking  they  kiss  each  other  on  the  lips.  In 
the  case  where  one  is  a  little  inferior  to  the  other  the  kiss  is  given 
on  the  cheek.  Where  the  difference  of  rank  is  great  the  inferior 
prostrates  himself  on  the  ground. 

They  hold  it  unlawful  to  talk  of  anything  which  it  is  unlawful 
to  do.  The  most  disgraceful  thing  in  the  world,  they  think,  is  to 
tell  a  lie.  The  next  worse,  to  owe  a  debt;  because,  among  other 
reasons,  the  debtor  is  obliged  to  tell  lies. 

THEORY  OF  THE  RISING  OF  THE  NILE. 

I  will  proceed  to  explain  what  I  think  to  be  the  reason  of  the 
Nile’s  swelling  in  the  summer  time.  During  the  winter  the  sun  is 
driven  out  of  his  usual  course  by  the  storms,  and  removes  to  the 
upper  parts  of  Libya.  This  is  the  whole  secret  in  the  fewest  pos¬ 
sible  words.  For  it  stands  to  reason  that  the  country  to  which  the 
Sun-god  approaches  the  nearest,  and  which  he  passes  directly  over, 
will  be  scautest  of  water,  and  that  there  the  streams  which  feed  the 
rivers  will  shrink  the  most. 


140 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


The  sun,  in  his  passage  across  the  upper  parts  of  Libya,  attracts 
the  water.  After  attracting  it  he  again  repels  it  to  the  upper  re¬ 
gions,  where  the  winds  lay  hold  of  it,  scatter  it,  and  reduce  it  to 
vapor;  whence  it  naturally  enough  comes  to  pass  that  the  winds 
which  blow  from  this  quarter  are  of  all  winds  the  most  rainy. 
And  my  own  opinion  is  that  the  sun  does  not  get  rid  of  all  the 
water  which  he  draws  year  by  year  from  the  Nile,  but  retains 
some  of  it  about  him. 

When  the  winter  begins  to  soften  the  sun  goes  back  again  to  his 
old  place  in  the  midtile  of  the  heavens,  and  proceeds  to  attract 
water  equally  from  all  countries.  Till  then  the  other  rivers  run 
big,  from  the  quantity  of  rain  water  which  they  bring  down  from 
countries  where  so  much  moisture  falls  that  all  the  land  is  cut 
into  gullies.  But  in  summer,  when  the  showers  fail,  and  the  sun 
attracts  their  water,  they  become  low. 

The  Nile,  on  the  contrary,  not  deriving  any  of  its  bulk  from 
rains,  and  being  in  the  winter  subject  to  the  attraction  of  the  sun 
naturally  runs  at  that  season,  unlike  all  other  streams,  with  a  less 
burthen  of  water  than  in  the  summer  time.  For  in  summer  it  is 
exposed  to  attraction  equally  with  all  other  rivers,  but  in  winter  it 
suffers  alone.  The  sun,  therefore,  I  regard  as  the  sole  cause  of  the 
phenomena. 

THE  UNKNOWN  WEST. 

Of  the  extreme  tracts  of  Europe  toward  the  west  I  cannot 
speak  with  any  certainty;  for  I  do  not  allow  that  there  is  any  river 
to  which  the  barbarians  give  the  name  of  Erid'anus,  emptying 
itself  into  the  Northern  Sea,  whence  (as  the  tale  goes)  amber  is 
procured.  Nor  do  I  know  of  any  lands  called  the  Cassiter'ides  (Tin 
Islands),  whence  the  tin  comes  which  we  use.  For  in  the  first 
place  the  name  Eridanus  is  manifestly  not  a  barbarian  word  at  all, 
but  a  Greek  name,  invented  by  somebody  or  other.  And  secondly, 
though  I  have  taken  vast  pains,  I  have  never  been  able  to  get  an 
assurance  from  an  eye  witness  that  there  is  any  sea  on  the  further 
side  of  Europe.  Nevertheless  tin  and  amber  do  certainly  come  to 
us  from  the  ends  of  the  earth. — Rawliuson. 


THUCYDIDES. 


141 


THUCYD'IDES. 

BORN  471  B.C. 

Thucydides,  in  many  respects  the  greatest  of  ancient 
historians,  was  born  of  a  noble  Athenian  family,  and  was 
instructed  in  all  the  learning  of  the  Greeks.  He  was 
possessed  of  great  wealth,  acquired  either  by  inheritance 
or  through  marriage,  part  of  his  property  consisting  of 
gold  mines  in  Thrace.  Of  his  life,  he  himself  tells  us  that 
he  was  attacked  by  the  terrible  plague  that  prevailed 
in  Athens  during  the  Peloponnesian  war,  and  was  one  of 
the  few  who  recovered.  He  also  commanded,  in  the  year 
424  b.c.,  a  fleet  of  seven  ships,  with  which  he  sailed  to  the 
relief  of  Amphip'olis.  He  arrived  too  late,  however,  as  the 
Spartans,  fearing  his  approach,  offered  favorable  terms  to 
the  citizens,  and  induced  them  to  surrender. 

The  Athenians,  who,  like  some  more  recent  nations, 
were  accustomed  to  judge  of  the  merit  of  their  generals 
by  the  sole  gauge  of  success,  gave  no  credit  to  Thucydides 
for  his  efforts,  and  condemned  him  to  exile  for  neglect  of 
duty.  This  period  of  exile  continued  for  more  than  twenty 
years,  and  was  probably  passed  in  Sicily  and  in  the  Pel¬ 
oponnesus.  He  lived  for  the  few  last  years  of  his  life  in 
Athens,  the  decree  of  exile  having  been  removed.  Here 
he  died,  apparently  by  assassination,  in  the  year  401  b.c. 

To  the  unjust  haste  of  the  Athenians  in  thus  exiling 
one  of  their  most  gifted  minds  we  possibly  owe  the  great 
work  of  Thucydides,  the  history  of  the  Peloponnesian  war, 
for  which  life-labor  he  seems  to  have  for  many  years  pre¬ 
pared  himself  by  taking  careful  notes  of  the  successive 
events  of  the  war  as  they  occurred.  In  the  whole  range 
of  ancient  literature  there  is  no  production  that  stands 
higher  in  modern  estimation  than  this  admirable  work. 
The  philosophy  of  history  is  born  with  it,  the  author  in- 


142 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


quiring  into  the  motives  of  men,  and  the  hidden  springs 
of  historical  action,  with  all  the  critical  intelligence  of 
our  best  modern  writers. 

Thucydides  was  acquainted  with  the  works  of  the  Ionian 
historians  —  though  possibly  not  with  that  of  Herodotus  — 
and  dismisses  them  all  as  fabulous  and  unworthy,  designed 
for  amusement  only,  not  for  instruction.  Instead  of,  in 
the  fashion  of  these  writers,  ascribing  historical  events  to 
the  action  of  the  superior  powers,  he  takes  human  enter¬ 
prise  and  ambition  as  the  causes  of  national  changes,  and 
considers  their  influence  on  the  conditions  of  mankind. 
He  also  is  very  careful  to  preserve  unity  of  action  in  the 
events  treated  of,  without  regard  to  strict  succession  in 
time.  This  gives  his  work  the  character  of  a  historical 
drama,  a  great  lawsuit,  the  parties  to  which  are  the 
belligerent  nations;  its  object,  the  Athenian  domination 
over  Greece. 

His  style  is  remarkable  for  its  condensation,  giving  in 
a  few  vivid  expressions  the  facts  which  he  must  have  taken 
weeks  to  collect,  sift,  and  discriminate  between.  In  narra- 

I 

tive  he  displays  great  clearness,  perfect  consistency  in  de¬ 
tails,  and  a  close  agreement  with  the  laws  of  nature,  and 
with  what  we  know  from  other  sources  of  the  events  and 
persons  described,  which  inspires  the  fullest  confidence  in 
his  truth  and  fidelity.  His  descriptive  power  is  unrivaled, 
and  in  his  political  and  moral  observations  he  shows  the 
keenest  insight  into  the  secret  causes  of  human  action  and 
the  mental  nature  of  man. 

One  marked  feature  of  his  work  is  the  speeches  which 
he  ascribes  to  his  characters,  but  which  are,  no  doubt,  of 
his  own  invention.  These  are  given  as  spoken  on  various 
occasions,  in  the  assembly  or  before  the  army,  and  add 
greatly  to  the  vividness  of  his  narrative.  His  characters, 
indeed,  are  nowhere  mere  figure-pieces,  but  dramatically 
drawn  persons,  who  preserve  their  individuality  throughout. 


THUCYDIDES. 


143 


The  history  was  originally  divided  into  winters  and 
summers  —  each  summer  and  winter  making  a  year.  This 
arrangement  has  been  changed,  probably  by  the  Alexan¬ 
drian  critics,  into  the  books  and  chapters  of  the  work  as 
it  now  exists,  of  which  books  the  eighth  (and  last)  was 
either  not  written  by  him,  or  failed  to  receive  the  careful 
revision  of  the  previous  seven. 

Finally,  it  may  be  remarked,  that  of  all  the  history  of 
the  human  race  there  is  no  period  more  distinctly  defined 
than  the  first  twenty-one  years  of  the  Peloponnesian  war, 
as  given  in  this  great  work  of  Thucydides. 

HISTORY  DISTINGUISHED  FROM  FABLE. 

Now  lie  that,  by  the  arguments  here  adduced,  shall  form  a 
judgment  of  the  things  past;  and  not  believe  rather  that  they  were 
such  as  the  poets  have  sung,  or  prose  writers  have  composed,  more 
delightfully  to  the  ear  than  conformably  to  the  truth,  as  being 
things  not  to  be  disproved,  and  by  length  of  time  turned  for  the 
most  part  into  the  nature  of  fables  without  credit;  but  shall  think 
them  here  searched  out  by  the  most  evident  signs  that  can  be,  and 
sufficiently,  too,  considering  their  antiquity:  he,  I  say,  shall 
not  err. 

And  though  men  always  judge  the  present  war,  wherein  they 
live,  to  be  the  greatest;  and  when  it  is  past  admire  more  those 
that  were  before  it;  yet  if  they  consider  of  this  war  by  the  acts 
done  in  the  same,  it  will  manifest  itself  to  be  greater  than  any 
of  those  before  mentioned. 

To  hear  this  history  rehearsed,  for  that  there  be  inserted  in  it 
no  fables,  shall  be  perhaps  not  delightful ;  but  he  that  desires  to 
look  into  the  truth  of  things  done,  and  which  (according  to  the 
condition  of  humanity)  may  be  done  again,  or  at  least  their  like, 
he  shall  find  enough  herein  to  make  him  think  it  profitable;  and 
it  is  compiled  rather  for  an  everlasting  possession  than  to  be  re¬ 
hearsed  for  a  prize. — Hobbes. 

ORATION  OF  ARCHIDA'mUS. 

Men  of  Lacedaemon,  both  I  myself  have  the  experience  of  many 
wars,  and  I  see  you  of  the  same  age  with  me  to  have  the  like.  In¬ 
somuch  as  you  cannot  desire  this  war  either  through  inexperience, 


144 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


as  many  do,  nor  yet  as  apprehending  it  to  be  profitable  or  safe;  and 
whoever  shall  temperately  consider  the  war  we  now  deliberate  of, 
shall  find  it  to  be  no  small  one;  for  though,  in  respect  of  the  Pelo¬ 
ponnesians  and  our  neighboring  states,  we  have  equal  strength,  and 
can  quickly  be  upon  them ;  yet  against  men  whose  territory  is  re¬ 
mote,  and  who  are  also  expert  seamen,  and  with  all  other  things 
excellently  furnished,  as  monies,  both  private  and  public,  shipping, 
horses,  arms  and  numbers,  more  than  any  one  part  of  Greece 
besides,  and  have  many  confederates  paying  them  tribute;  against 
such,  I  ask,  why  should  we  lightly  undertake  a  war? 

And  since  we  are  unfurnished,  whereon  relying  should  we  make 
haste  to  it? — On  our  navy?  But  therein  we  are  too  weak.  And  if 
we  will  profit  and  prepare  against  them  it  will  require  time.  On 
our  money?  But  therein  also  we  are  too  weak,  for  neither  has  the 
state  any,  nor  will  private  men  readily  contribute.  But  it  may  be 
some  rely  on  this,  that  we  exceed  them  in  arms  and  multitude  of 
soldiers,  so  that  we  may  waste  their  territory  with  incursions.  But 
there  is  much  other  land  under  their  dominion,  and  by  sea  they  are 
able  to  bring  in  whatsoever  they  should  stand  in  need  of. 

What  a  war,  then,  will  this  of  ours  be?  As  for  the  hope  that  if 
we  waste  their  country  the  war  will  soon  be  at  an  end,  let  that  never 
lift  us  up,  for  I  fear  that  we  shall  transmit  it  rather  to  our  children. 
For  it  is  likely  the  Athenians  have  the  spirit  not  to  be  slaves;  nor 
are  they  men  without  experience,  to  be  astonished  at  the  war. 

— Hobbes. 

WAR  DESTROYS  PUBLIC  INTEGRITY. 

Many  and  calamitous  events  befall  states  through  faction;  things 
which  have  been  and  ever  will  be  while  human  nature  continues 
what  it  is;  but  extreme  or  milder,  and  varied  in  their  forms  as  the 
change  of  events  fall  out.  For  in  seasons  of  peace  and  prosperity 
both  states  and  private  persons  are  better  disposed,  by  reason  of 
their  not  having  fallen  into  those  necessities  which  hurry  them  into 
what  they  otherwise  would  not  do.  But  war,  by  withdrawing  the 
means  for  the  supply  of  men’s  daily  needs,  is  an  imperious  dictator, 
and  stimulates  their  dispositions  to  their  present  situation  and  cir¬ 
cumstances. 

Thus,  then,  the  Grecian  states  were  agitated  by  factions,  wherein 
those  who  had  been  behindhand  in  hearing  of  what  had  been  before 
done,  introduced  a  decided  superiority  by  contriving  new  devices, 
both  in  respect  of  artful  stratagems  of  attack,  and  in  novel  atrocity 
of  punishment.  Nay,  the  accustomed  acceptation  of  names  in  re- 


XENOPHON. 


145 


spect  to  things  they  interchanged  at  their  own  pleasure;  thus  a 
rash,  headlong  daring  was  accounted  a  faithful,  devoted  courage;  a 
prudent  delay,  specious  cowardice;  prudence,  a  cloak  for  pusilla¬ 
nimity;  and  the  use  of  wisdom  in  anything  was  being  sluggish  in 
everything.  The  furiously  violent  was  ever  esteemed  trusty,  while 
he  that  withstood  him  was  suspected.  He  that  applied  any  knavery 
was,  if  successful,  thought  clever;  but  he  who  used  prudent  fore¬ 
thought,  so  as  to  need  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  was  esteemed  a 
dissolver  of  good  fellowship,  and  a  craven  before  his  foes. 

— Bloomfield. 

XEN'OPHON. 

BORN  445  B.C. 

This  notable  soldier  and  historian  was  a  native  of  Athens, 
in  which  city  he  was  born  in  the  year  445  b.c.  The  first 
known  important  event  in  his  life  is  that  related  as  occur¬ 
ring  at  the  battle  of  De'lium,  where,  after  Xenophon  had 
fallen  from  his  horse,  his  life  was  saved  by  his  fellow  soldier 
Socrates,  who  carried  him  on  his  strong  shoulders  from  the 
field  of  battle. 

The  great  philosopher  had,  before  this  occurrence,  been 
attracted  by  the  handsome  and  intelligent,  face  of  the  young 
soldier,  and  now  almost  constrained  him  into  his  society, 
Xenophon  becoming  one  of  his  most  ardent  followers.  At 
the  age  of  forty,  on  the  representations  of  a  friend,  who 
laid  before  him  tempting  hopes  of  gain,  he  joined  the  army 
of  Cyrus  the  Younger,  in  the  expedition  of  the  latter 
against  his  brother,  the  reigning  King  of  Persia. 

This  enterprise  ended  in  the  death  of  Cyrus,  the  treach¬ 
erous  slaughter  of  the  Greek  generals,  and  the  retreat  of 
their  followers,  under  the  leadership  of  Xenophon;  who 
now  rose  to  the  command,  and  displayed  great  tact  and 
ability  in  extricating  them  from  their  dangerous  position. 
Their  perilous  homeward  march,  through  hostile  nations, 
and  in  severe  winter  weather,  has  become  celebrated  in  his¬ 
tory  as  the  “Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand. ”  Its  success 
was  mainlv  due  to  the  skill  and  courage  of  its  leader,  and 
7 


146 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


its  celebrity  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  highly  interesting 
description  which  he  has  himself  given  of  it. 

After  reaching  Asia  Minor  he  led  part  of  his  troops  on  a 
pillaging  expedition,  in  which  he  acquired  considerable 
wealth.  He  afterward  served  under  Agesila'us,  the  Spar¬ 
tan  general,  against  the  Persians;  and  even  fought  against 
his  own  countrymen  at  Corone'a. 

He  had  previously  had  sentence  of  banishment  passed  on 
him  at  Athens,  and  he  now  settled  in  Scil'lus,  a  small  town 
of  E'lis.  Here  he  erected  a  small  temple,  dedicated  to 
Diana  of  Eph'esus,  and  instituted  an  annual  festival  in  her 
honor,  which  became  very  popular.  He  resided  here  for 
twenty  years,  occupying  himself  in  authorship  and  agri¬ 
culture;  and  indulging,  also,  in  his  passion  for  hunting,  the 
surrounding  forests  being  full  of  game.  He  was  finally 
driven  from  Scillus  by  the  Eleans,  for  some  unknown  rea¬ 
son,  and  took  refuge  in  Corinth,  where  he  probably  died, 
359  b.c. 

The  principal  works  of  Xenophon  are,  the  Ancib'asis,  or 
the  Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand;  a  history  of  Greece  in 
continuation  of  Thucydides;  the  Cyropce dia,  a  picture  of 
an  ideal  state,  in  which  Cyrus  the  Elder  is  drawn  as  the 
model  of  a  wise  and  good  ruler;  and  the  MemorabiVia  of 
Socrates,  a  valuable  record  of  the  daily  life  of  that  great 
practical  philosopher.  He  also  wrote  treatises  on  Hunting, 
on  the  Horse,  on  the  Revenues  of  Athens,  and  on  Domestic 
Economy. 

Xenophon’s  mode  of  thought  is  practical,  not  speculative. 
His  style  is  simple,  lucid  and  flowing,  but  rather  monoto¬ 
nous,  and  deficient  in  vigor.  He  has,  in  fact,  no  great  lit¬ 
erary  talent;  and,  as  a  speculative  philosopher,  does  very 
little  credit  to  Socrates,  to  the  full  comprehension  of  whose 
teachings  the  character  of  his  mind  was  entirely  unfitted. 

His  works,  however,  are  highly  interesting,  being  full  of 
minor  particulars,  which  are  rendered  more  entertaining 


XENOPHON. 


147 


by  his  facile  and  simple  style  of  narrative.  He  imitates 
Thucydides  in  the  introduction  of  speeches  into  his  histor¬ 
ical  works,  and  in  this  respect  is  often  very  animated.  But 
he  is  in  no  sense  a  great  historian;  nor  is  he  impartial. 
He  takes,  for  instance,  an  unduly  favorable  view  of  Agesi- 
la'us,  the  great  Spartan  general;  giving  much  credit  to  his 
hero  in  cases  where  it  was,  evidently,  not  greatly  deserved. 

The  following  passage,  describing  the  feelings  of  the 
Greeks,  when  deprived  of  their  leaders,  and  threatened  by 
a  hostile  army,  is  the  most  pathetically  written  in  the 
Anabasis . 

the  Greek’s  despair. 

At  the  distance  of  more  than  1,200  miles  from  their  native  land, 
in  the  midst  of  hostile  states  and  races,  their  route  homeward 
intersected  by  impassable  rivers,  they  were  deserted  and  betrayed 
by  those  whom  they  had  trusted  as  confederates  in  a  common 
cause;  destitute  of  provisions,  or  any  means  of  procuring  them; 
without  guides;  without  a  single  cavalry  soldier;  and  hence  un¬ 
able,  when  victorious,  to  follow  up  their  successes,  or  when  beaten 
to  protect  their  retreat.  Their  minds  oppressed  and  their  spirits 
broken  by  these  sad  reflections,  few  cared  to  kindle  fire  or  to  taste 
food  on  that  fatal  night,  and  many  never  appeared  at  the  evening 
muster. 

As  each  felt  inclined  they  laid  them  down  to  rest,  but  not  to 
sleep;  distracted  with  grief,  and  with  longing  desire  of  their  coun¬ 
try,  parents,  wives,  and  children,  whom  they  never  expected  to  meet 
again. 

The  following  passage,  concerning  complaints  of  the  sol¬ 
diers  against  Xenoplion,  after  they  had  reached  Asia  Minor, 
is  a  good  instance  of  his  simple,  colloquial  style. 

Some  also  brought  accusations  against  Xenophon,  alleging  that 
they  had  been  beaten  by  him,  and  charging  him  with  having  be¬ 
haved  insolently.  On  this  Xenophon  stood,  and  called  on  him 
who  had  spoken  first  to  say  where  he  had  been  beaten.  He  an¬ 
swered:  “  Where  we  were  perishing  with  cold,  and  where  the  snow 
was  deepest.”  Xenophon  rejoined:  “Come,  come!  in  such  severe 
weather  as  you  mention,  when  provisions  had  failed,  and  we  had 


148 


TIIE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


not  wine  so  much  as  to  smell  at — when  many  were  exhausted  with 
fatigue,  and  the  enemy  were  close  behind  —  if  at  such  a  time  I 
behaved  insolently,  I  acknowledge  that  I  must  be  more  vicious 
than  the  ass,  which,  they  say,  is  too  vicious  to  feel  being  tired. 
Tell  us,  however,  why  you  were  beaten.  Did  I  ask  you  for  any¬ 
thing  and  beat  you  when  you  would  not  give  it  to  me?  Did  I  ask 
anything  back  from  you?  Did  I  maltreat  you  in  my  cups?” 

As  the  man  said  there  was  nothing  of  this  kind,  Xenophon 
asked  him  whether  he  was  one  of  the  heavy-armed  troops?  He 
answered,  “No.”  Whether  he  was  a  targeteer?  He  said  he  was 
“not  that  either;  but  a  free  man,  who  had  been  sent  to  drive  a 
mule  by  his  comrades.”  On  this  Xenophon  recognized  him,  and 
asked  him:  “What!  are  you  the  man  who  was  conveying  a  sick 
person?”  “Ay,  by  Jupiter  am  I!”  said  he,  “for  you  compelled 
me  to  do  it;  and  you  scattered  about  the  baggage  of  my  com¬ 
rades.”  “The  scattering,”  rejoined  Xenophon,  “  was  something  in 
this  way.  I  distributed  it  to  others  to  carry,  and  ordered  them  to 
bring  it  back  to  me  again;  and  having  got  it  back  I  restored  it  all 
safe  to  you,  as  soon  as  you  had  produced  the  man  that  I  gave  you 
in  charge.  But  hear,  all  of  you,”  he  continued,  “in  wliat.  way  the 
affair  happened ;  for  it  is  worth  listening  to.  The  man  was  being 
left  behind  because  he  was  unable  to  march  any  further.  I  knew 
nothing  of  him  except  that  he  was  one  of  us,  and  I  compelled  you, 
sir,  to  bring  him  that  he  might  not  perish;  for,  if  I  mistake  not, 
the  enemy  was  pressing  upon  us.”  This  the  complainant  ac¬ 
knowledged. 

“Well,  then,”  said  Xenophon,  “after  I  had  sent  you  on,  did  not 
I  catch  you,  as  I  came  up  with  the  rear  guard,  digging  a  trench  to 
bury  the  man,  when  I  stopped  and  commended  you  ?  But  while  we 
were  standing  by,  the  man  drew  up  his  leg,  and  those  who  were 
there  cried  out  that  he  was  alive;  and  you  said,  ‘He  may  be  as 
much  alive  as  he  likes,  for  I  shan’t  carry  him.’  On  this  I  struck 
you,  it  is  quite  true,  for  you  seemed  to  me  to  have  been  aware  that 
the  man  was  alive.” 

“  Well,  then,”  exclaimed  the  other,  “  did  he  die  any  the  less  after 
I  had  rendered  him  up  to  you  ?  ” 

“Why,  we  shall  all  die,”  said  Xenophon.  “But  is  that  any 
reason  that  we  should  be  buried  alive?” 

Hereupon  all  the  assembly  cried  out  that  Xenophon  had  not 
beaten  the  fellow  half  enough. — Grant. 


XENOPHON. 


149 


FROM  THE  CYROP^e'dIA. 

Cyrus  is  said  to  have  given  this  noble  instance  to  Croe'sus,  on  a 
certain  time  when  Croesus  suggested  to  him  that  by  the  multitude 
of  persons  that  he  made  rich  he  would  be  a  beggar,  when  it  was 
in  his  power  to  lay  up  at  home  mighty  treasures  of  gold.  It  is 
said  that  Cyrus  then  asked  him  this: 

“What  sums  do  you  think  I  should  now  have  in  possession, 
if  I  had  been  hoarding  up  gold  as  you  bid  me  ever  since  I  have 
been  in  power?” 

And  that  Croesus  in  reply  named  some  mighty  sum;  and  that 
Cyrus,  at  this,  said  : 

“  Well,  Croesus,  do  you  send  with  Hystaspes  here  some  person 
that  you  have  most  confidence  in.  And  do  you,  Hystaspes,  go 
about  to- my  friends.  Tell  them  that  I  am  in  want  of  money  for 
a  certain  affair,  (and  in  reality  I  am  in  want  of  it,)  and  bid  them  to 
furnish  me  with  as  much  as  they  are,  each  of  them,  able  to  do ;  and 
that  writing  it  down  and  signing  it,  they  deliver  the  letter  to 
Croesus’  officers  to  bring  to  me.” 

Then  writing  down  what  he  had  said,  and  signing  it,  he  gave 
it  to  Hystaspes  to  carry  it,  to  his  friends,  but  added  in  the  letter 
to  them  all  “that  they  should  receive  Hystaspes  as  his  friend.” 
After  they  had  gone  around,  and  Croesus’  officers  brought  the 
letters,  Hystaspes  said : 

“O  Cyrus,  my  king,  you  must  now  make  use  of  me  as  a  rich 
man,  for  here  do  I  attend  you  abounding  in  presents  that  have  been 
made  me  on  account  of  your  letter.” 

Cyrus  on  this  said : 

“  This  then  is  one  treasure  to  me,  Croesus.  But  read  over  the 
others,  and  reckon  up  what  riches  there  are  ready  for  me  in  case 
I  want  for  my  own  use.” 

Croesus,  on  calculating,  is  said  to  have  found  many  times  the 
sum  that  he  told  Cyrus  he  might  now  have  had  in  his  treasury 
if  he  had  hoarded.  When  it  appeared  to  be  thus,  Cyrus  is  reported 
to  have  said : 

“You  see,  Croesus,  that  I  have  my  treasures,  too;  but  you  bid 
me  hoard  them  up  to  be  envied  and  hated  for  them.  You  bid  me 
place  hired  guards  upon  them,  and  in  these  to  place  my  trust.  But 
I  make  my  friends  rich,  and  reckon  them  to  be  treasures  to  me, 
and  guards  both  to  myself  and  to  all  things  of  value  that  belong 
to  us,  and  such  as  are  more  to  be  trusted  than  if  I  set  up  a  guard 
of  hirelings. 


150 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


“And  that  you  may  be  sensible  of  this,  Croesus,  they  that  possess 
the  most,  and  have  the  most  in  their  custody,  I  do  not  reckon  the 
happiest  men;  but  the  person  who  can  acquire  the  most  with 
justice,  and  use  the  most  with  honor,  him  do  I  reckon  the  happiest 
man,  and  this  I  reckon  to  be  riches.” — Cooper. 


RISE  OF  GREEK  PHILOSOPHY. 


In  due  course  of  human  thought,  the  long  reign  of 
Mythology  is  followed  by  an  epoch  of  Philosophy.  Men’s 
earliest  efforts  to  reason  out  the  principles  of  nature  have 
always  resulted  in  ascribing  its  phenomena  to  deific  influ¬ 
ence.  Not  only  the  unseen  heavens  and  the  deep  Tartarean 
realms  are  placed  under  the  kingly  rule  of  the  Gods,  but 
the  region  of  the  visible  as  well.  The  movements  of  the 
heavenly  bodies,  the  earth,  air  and  ocean,  the  flow  of 
streams  and  the  growth  of  trees,  are  alike  governed  by 
their  separate  divinities.  The  imagination  is  as  active  in 
devising  deities  as  nature  is  in  presenting  forces;  and  grad¬ 
ually  a  complex  series  of  myths  arise,  whose  origin  in  the 
operations  of  nature  it  becomes  very  difficult  to  trace. 

But  when  men  begin  to  reason  and  doubt,  and  cease  to 
imagine  and  accept,  all  mythologies  receive  a  fatal  blow, 
and  their  final  disappearance  is  but  a  question  of  time. 
The  growth  of  a  mythology,  though  slow,  is  an  unconscious 
process;  there  is  no  evident  exercise  of  thought;  a  nation, 
on  emerging  from  its  primitive  state,  finds  itself  possessed 
of  an  intricate  cosmogony,  of  whose  origin  it  is  in  utter 
ignorance,  and  the  existence  of  which  is  most  easily  solved 
by  ascribing  it  to  the  teaching  of  the  Gods  themselves. 

But  it  is  a  laborious  process  to  reason  out  a  system  of 
nature  in  which  inanimate  springs  of  action,  and  material 
motive  forces,  shall  replace  the  deus  ex  machina  of  the 
earlier  cosmogonies.  Such  a  development  can  only  be 
worked  out  by  the  active  exercise  of  human  thought,  and 
the  mile-stones  of  its  progress  will  naturally  be  marked  by 

151 


152 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


the  names  and  systems  of  the  successive  thinkers  to  whom 
its  gradual  growth  is  due.  Several  of  the  ancient  races 
present  us  with  some  degree  of  progress  in  this  direction; 
as  in  the  philosophic  speculations  of  the  Chinese  and  the 
Indians;  but  the  Greeks  alone  succeeded  in  including  the 
phenomena  of  nature  and  life  in  the  circle  of  a  philosophic 
system  that  replaced  all  -the  vagaries  of  mythology. 

Their  movement  in  this  direction  was  marked  by  their 
usual  mental  vigor,  rapidly  advancing,  as  it  did,  from  the 
crude  ideas  of  the  Ionic  school  to  the  deep  idealism  of  Plato 
and  the  broad  philosophic  grasp  of  Aristotle. 

The  earlier  steps  in  this  philosophic  progress  were  neces¬ 
sarily  crude  in  character  and  vague  in  outline.  They  con¬ 
sist  of  the  writings  of  three  natives  of  Ionia,  namely,  Tha'les 
of  Mile'tus,  who  flourished  about  600  b.c.,  and  his  successors, 
Anaximan'der  and  Anaxim'enes.  Their  doctrines  are  more 
curious  than  intrinsically  valuable,  except  as  a  first  opening 
into  this  untrodden  field  of  thought.  The  scope  of  their 
effort  was  to  reduce  nature  to  a  single  underlying  principle, 
from  which  all  existing  things  resulted.  This  principle,  in 
the  case  of  Thales,  was  water.  His  theory  may  be  briefly 
expressed  in  his  own  words  :  “  From  water  everything 
arises,  and  into  water  everything  returns.”  Anaximander 
imagined  an  original  undefined  essence  as  the  basis  of 
•nature,  and  Anaxim'enes  taught  that  air  is  the  basic  prin¬ 
ciple. 

This  material  Ionic  school  was  succeeded  by  the  doctrines 
of  Pythag'oras  and  his  followers,  whose  system  was  founded 
on  the  proportions  and  dimensions  of  matter,  instead  of  on 
its  substance.  In  their  vie  ws,  “  number  is  the  essence  of 
all  things.”  This  had  the  merit  of  being  an  abstract  prin¬ 
ciple,  and  of  embracing  some  idea  of  the  mathematical  har¬ 
mony  of  nature;  but  its  value  was  vitiated  by  the  absurd 
conclusions  deduced  from  it.  Thev  taught,  for  instance, 
that  virtue,  the  soul,  the  body,  etc.,  might  each  be  reduced 


RISE  OF  GREEK  PHILOSOPHY. 


153 


to  certain  fixed,  controlling  numbers.  The  only  doctrine  of 
importance  in  their  physics  is  that  taught  by  Philola'us 
respecting  the  orbital  movement  of  the  earth. 

The  next  school  of  philosophy  which  arose  was  in  many 
respects  remarkable  for  so  early  a  period  in  the  history  of 
thought.  It  is  that  known  as  the  Eleatic,  its  principal 
writers  being  Xenoph'anes  of  Elia;  Parmen'ides,  his  disci¬ 
ple;  and  Ze'no,  a  pupil  of  the  latter.  The  abstraction 
implied  in  the  Pythagorean  doctrine  of  numbers  is  carried 
by  these  philosophers  to  its  extreme  limit,  as  they  deny  the 
real  existence  of  all  form  or  substance,  and  affirm  that  only 
pure  being  exists.  Parmenides,  the  most  noted  author  of 
this  school,  advanced  his  doctrines  in  an  epic  poem,  of 
which  important  fragments  are  still  extant. 

Xenophanes  had  taught  the  unity  of  all  nature  in  God, 
the  “  One  and  All.”  He  declaimed  against  the  absurdities 
of  mythology,  and  declared  that  the  Godhead  is  wholly  see¬ 
ing,  hearing  and  understanding,  unmoved  and  undivided, 
utterly  removed  from  the  finite,  and  calmly  ruling  all 
things  by  his  thought.  This  view  Parmenides  expanded, 
attaining  a  conception  of  pure  single  being,  which  is  the 
only  existence,  and  combines  pure  thought  in  its  essence. 
Zeno,  who  was  the  first  prose  writer  among  the  Greek 
philosophers,  carried  the  abstraction  of  the  Eleatic  doctrine 
to  its  utmost  extreme,  utterly  denying  the  real  existence  of 
the  visible  world. 

Such  a  complete  negation,  however,  could  not  long  find 
advocates.  Heracli'tus  of  Ephesus,  a  partial  contemporary 
of  Parmenides,  brought  back  philosophy  within  more  mod¬ 
erate  limits.  His  work,  “Concerning  Nature,”  was,  how¬ 
ever,  so  concise  and  obscure  that  the  ancients  themselves 
failed  to  clearly  understand  it.  Socrates  said  concerning  it, 
that  “  what  he  understood  of  it  was  excellent,  and  he  had 
no  doubt  that  what  he  did  not  understand  was  equally 
good;  but  the  book  requires  an  expert  swimmer.” 


154 


TIIE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


The  philosophic  principle  taught  by  Heraclitus  was  that 
“  the  becoming  ”  is  the  essence  of  nature.  He  advanced 
the  axiom  that  “  everything  flows.”  In  his  view  all  things 
are  in  a  constant  movement,  from  one  form  to  another, 
from  the  non-existing  into  the  existing,  and  this  incessant 
energy  of  change  is  the  only  important  reality.  He  took 
fire  as  the  representative  of  this  principle  of  change;  not  as 
the  essence  of  nature,  as  Aristotle  has  declared. 

Emped'ocles  of  Agrigentum,  who  flourished  about  440 
b.c.,  wrote  a  philosophic  poem,  in  which  he  upheld  the 
reality  of  matter.  He  maintained  that  it  is  composed  of 
four  original  elements,  independent  of  each  other,  to  whose 
mingling,  combining,  and  dividing,  everything  is  due.  These 
changes  take  place  under  the  influence  of  two  powers, 
analogous  to  our  ideas  of  attraction  and  repulsion.  Par¬ 
menides  had  upheld  the  importance  of  love,  or  attraction; 
Heraclitus,  of  strife,  or  repulsion.  Empedocles  combined 
these  principles  as  the  basis  of  his  system. 

He  was  followed  by  the  Atomistic  philosophers,  who  ad¬ 
vanced  doctrines  closely  approaching  those  held  by  modern 
chemists.  Democ'ritus,  the  principal  writer  of  this  school, 
was  born  about  460  b.c.,  was  an  extensive  traveler,  and  was 
the  most  learned  of  the  Greeks  previous  to  Artistotle.  He 
taught  that  all  visible  things  are  made  up  of  original  atoms, 
which  are  unchangeable  material  particles.  He  ascribes 
the  moving  forces  of  nature  to  “  unconscious  necessity,”  and 
carries  these  views  into  extreme  materialism. 

Anaxag'oras,  who  was  born  about  500  b.c.,  was  the  first 
to  plant  philosophy  at  Athens,  which  from  his  time  became 
the, center  of  intellectual  life  in  Greece.  His  doctrines  are 
the  very  contrary  of  the  atheistic  teachings  of  Democritus. 
He  places  a  world-forming  Intelligence  by  the  side  of  mat¬ 
ter,  and  recognizes  mind  as  the  first  cause  of  all  things. 
His  principle,  however,  is  not  a  complete  abstraction,  a 
single,  unlimited  Deity,  but  only  a  first  impulse,  a  moving 


SOCRATES. 


155 


force.  It  differs  from  the  Xenophanic  doctrine  by  admit¬ 
ting  the  existence  of  the  visible,  and  ascribing  creative 
powers  to  the  Godhead. 

With  him  ended  the  materialistic  philosophers;  with  the 
Sophists,  who  succeeded  him,  began  the  ideal.  Building 
on  the  Anaxagorean  principle  of  mental  force  they  ad¬ 
vanced  to  the  conception  of  the  Subjective.  The  object  had 
previously  been  first  in  men’s  thoughts.  They  subordinated 
it  to  the  subject,  or  the  mentally  active.  Their  doctrines, 
however,  were  vaguely  defined,  and  seem  to  have  amounted 
to  little  more  than  the  denial  of  all  previous  systems. 
These  sophistical  teachers  were  numerous,  and  may  be  con¬ 
sidered  as  closing  the  first  period  of  Grecian  philosophy. 

With  Socrates  began  the  second  period.  Against  their 
doctrine  of  Empirical  Subjectivity  he  set  up  the  principle 
of  Absolute  Subjectivity,  that  of  the  spirit  in  the  form  of  a 
free  moral  will,  and  the  thought  as  something  higher  than 
existence. 

SOC'  RATES. 

BORN  469  B.C. 

This  most  remarkable  of  the  Grecian  philosophers,  and, 
in  some  respects,  the  greatest  mind  produced  by  ancient 
Greece,  was  the  son  of  Sophronis'cus,  a  sculptor,  whose 
profession  the  future  philosopher  followed  for  many  years, 
and  not  without  skill.  Pausa'nias  speaks  of  having  seen 
upon  the  Acropolis  three  draped  figures  of  the  Graces, 
which  were  said  to  be  the  work  of  Socrates. 

Little  further  is  known  of  his  early  education.  He 
seems  to  have  had  no  personal  connection  with  any  of  the 
noted  philosophers,  and  to  have  pinned  his  faith  to  none 
of  the  preceding  schools.  For  this  reason  his  teachings 
form  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  philosophy.  The  period 
in  which  he  first  became  prominent  in  this  new  field  can 
only  be  fixed  as  previous  to  the  production  of  the  Clouds 


156 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


of  Aristophanes,  in  which  he  was  so  severely  satirized. 
This  was  in  the  year  423,  when  he  was  forty-six  years 
old. 

His  remarkable  personal  appearance  made  him  a  fair 
mark  for  the  comedian’s  shafts  of  ridicule.  His  crooked, 
turned-up  nose,  his  projecting  eye,  his  bald  head  and  cor¬ 
pulent  body,  gave  occasion  for  the  comparison  of  his  form 
with  that  of  the  satyr  Sile'nus.  To  this  was  added  his 
miserable  dress,  his  habit  of  going  barefoot,  and  of  often 
standing  still  and  rolling  his  eyes.  His  domestic  relations, 
too,  were  calculated  to  inspire  the  ridicule  of  his  enemies; 
for  Xanthip'pe,  his  wife,  is  celebrated  as  the  premium  scold 
of  history,  and,  if  all  that  is  related  of  her  be  true,  must 
have  rendered  his  indoor  life  decidedly  uncomfortable. 

In  physical  constitution  Socrates  was  robust  to  an  un¬ 
usual  degree;  enabling  him  to  endure  the  hardest  military 
service,  and  to  live  superior  to  all  wants  beyond  the  barest 
necessaries  of  life.  He  served  as  a  hoplite,  or  heavy-armed 
foot-soldier,  at  the  siege  of  Potidae'a,  at  the  battle  of 
De'lium,  and  at  Amphip'olis.  In  these  engagements  his 
valor  and  endurance  were  greatly  extolled.  In  the  first  he 
saved  the  life  of  Alcibi'ades,  and  in  the  second  that  of 
Xenophon,  two  of  his  most  distinguished  pupils. 

On  two  memorable  occasions  he  stood  forth  in  political 
life.  After  the  battle  of  Arginu'sse,  in  406,  the  ten  generals 
in  command  were  tried  for  failing  to  obtain  the  bodies  of 
the  killed,  in  order  that  they  might  receive  the  rites  of 
interment.  Such  was  the  public  clamor  against  them  that 
the  court  wished  to  hasten  their  trial  in  violation  of  the 
ordinary  legal  forms;  but  Socrates,  as  the  presiding  judge, 
firmly  refused  to  put  the  question.  The  other  occasion 
was  during  the  rule  of  the  thirty  tyrants,  who  attempted 
to  force  a  number  of  influential  citizens  to  take  part  in 
their  illegal  murders  and  confiscations.  Socrates  withstood 
them  at  the  peril  of  his  own  life. 


SOCRATES. 


157 


As  to  his  philosophical  teachings,  he  could  not  be  said  to 
have  a  system,  nor  did  he  trouble  himself  to  devise  a  uni¬ 
versal  principle,  in  the  sense  of  those  preceding  him.  In 
fact  he  was  quite  indifferent  to  the  conditions  of  nature, 
and  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  human  life,  as  the 
only  object  worthy  of  regard  by  man.  To  search  out  the 
“  what  ”  of  everything,  says  Xenophon,  was  his  unceasing 
care,  and  in  this  effort  he  questioned  all  things  and  all 
persons,  being  utterly  without  respect  for  the  existing 
philosophy,  and  as  utterly  without  reverence  for  any  hu¬ 
man  authority. 

The  main  doctrine  which  he  is  represented  as  teaching 
is  the  importance  of  virtue,  and  the  necessity  of  seeking 
for  its  essence  as  a  philosophical  problem.  “  Virtue  is  a 
knowing”  is  the  only  definite  axiom  which  remains  of  his 
doctrines.  He  could  not  conceive  how  a  man  should  know 
the  good  and  yet  not  pursue  it,  and  the  search  for  the 
elements  of  morality  seemed  to  him  the  only  worthy  object 
of  study. 

Another  characteristic  of  Socrates  was  his  persuasion 
of  a  special  religious  mission.  He  had  been  accustomed 
all  his  life  to  hear  what  he  considered  a  divine  voice,  which 
came  to  him  as  a  warning,  not  as  an  instigation  to  act.  In 
deference  to  it  he  kept  back  from  entering  public  life,  and 
even  refrained  from  preparing  a  defense  to  be  made  on  his 
trial.  He  relied,  like  his  countrymen,  on  divine  intima¬ 
tions  by  dreams  and  oracles,  and  believed  that  his  mission 
had  been  signified  to  him  by  these. 

The  oracle  at  Delphi  having  declared  that  Socrates  was 
the  wisest  of  men,  the  philosopher,  who  was  fully  conscious 
of  his  lack  of  complete  wisdom,  resolved  to  test  the  matter 
by  questioning  all  persons  who  had  a  reputation  for  knowl¬ 
edge.  He  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  his  superior 
wisdom  lay  not  so  much  in  his  knowledge  as  in  his  con- 


158 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


sciousness  of  ignorance,  when  he  found  other  men  refusing 
to  admit  that  they  could  possibly  be  wrong. 

In  this  process  of  continual  questioning  he  adopted  a 
method  which  has  since  become  celebrated  as  the  Socratic. 
Professing  himself  to  be  ignorant  on  certain  subjects,  as 
justice,  temperance,  courage,  etc.,  and  finding  others  quite 
confident  of  their  ability  to  explain  these  subjects,  he  would 
ask  some  one  to  state  a  definition.  On  this  being  given,  the 
ironic  philosopher  would  put  a  few  further  questions,  to 
make  quite  sure  that  he  understood  the  meaning.  But  ere 
the  keen  questioner  had  proceeded  far  the  respondent  usu¬ 
ally  found  himself  driven  into  a  humiliating  self-contradic¬ 
tion. 

His  mode  of  instruction,  wholly  different  from  the  ped¬ 
antry  of  the  Sophists,  was  conversational  in  character, 
starting  from  objects  lying  nearest  at  hand  and  deriving 
illustrations  from  the  common  matters  of  everyday  life. 
In  fact  he  was  reproached  by  his  contemporaries  for  speak¬ 
ing  only  of  drudges,  smiths,  cobblers  and  tanners.  His 
whole  day  was  spent  in  the  market,  the  workshop  or  the 
gymnasium,  talking  with  any  one,  young  or  old,  rich  or 
poor,  that  sought  to  address  him.  He  visited  all  persons 
of  interest,  male  or  female,  with  little  regard  to  their 
character  or  reputation.  His  conversation  was  public,  per¬ 
petual  and  indiscriminate  as  to  persons  and  subjects,  and 
as  it  was  curious  and  instructive,  certain  persons  made  it 
their  habit  to  attend  him  in  public  as  companions  or  list¬ 
eners.  Only  in  this  sense  could  he  be  said  to  have  pupils, 
and  he  disclaimed  the  appellation  of  teacher. 

Bivt  so  distinguished  a  man,  and  one  whose  irony  was 
felt  so  widely  by  the  ostentatious  and  self-confident,  could 
not  fail  to  make  enemies.  The  bitter  attack  made  upon 
him  by  Aristophanes  served  to  raise  a  strong  feeling  against 
him  in  the  ignorant  lower  classes.  In  the  year  399  b.c. 
an  indictment  was  laid  against  him  in  the  following  terms: 


l 


SOCRATES. 


159 


“Socrates  is  guilty  of  crime;  first,  for  not  worshiping  the 
Gods  whom  the  city  worships,  and  for  introducing  new 
divinities  of  his  own;  next,  for  corrupting  the  youth.  The  * 
penalty  due  is  death.” 

To  this  accusation  Socrates  replied  in  a  defense,  admira¬ 
ble  in  tone  and  manner,  but  well  calculated  to  redouble 
the  number  of  his  enemies.  He  dwelt  on  his  mission  to 
convict  men  of  ignorance  for  their  ultimate  benefit;  pro¬ 
nounced  himself  a  public  blessing  to  the  Athenians;  de¬ 
clared  that  if  his  life  was  preserved  he  would  continue  the 
same'course;  and  regarded  the  prospect  of  death  with  utter 
indifference. 

The  trial  resulted  in  his  conviction  and  sentence  to 
death.  There  was  an  interval  of  thirty  days  before  his 
execution,  which  Socrates  passed  in  prison,  conversing  with 
his  friends,  as  usual.  On  the  last  day  is  said  to  have 
occurred  the  memorable  conversation  on  the  Immortality 
of  the  Soul,  as  given  in  the  Platonic  dialogue  called 
Phcedon.  He  then  drank  the  poison  of  the  hemlock,  and 
died  with  the  dignity  and  calmness  befitting  his  life. 

Socrates  left  no  works.  His  only  record  is  that  which 
remains  in  the  character  of  his  disciples,  their  grateful 
encomiums  upon  him,  and  the  wide-spread  influence  which 
he  exerted  upon  the  whole  course  of  Grecian  thought.  Of 
this  he  widened  the  entire  horizon,  and  opened  views  into 
the  hidden  world  of  mind  that  lies  within  the  visible 
world  of  matter,  which  render  his  life  a  grand  turning- 
point  in  the  history  of  human  speculation. 

We  possess  a  record  of  the  daily  life  and  mode  of  con¬ 
versation  of  Socrates,  a  sort  of  table-talk,  as  given  by 
Xenophon  in  his  Memorabilia;  a  work,  however,  which  is 
not  calculated  to  yield  us  an  exalted  idea  of  the  merit  of 
Socrates  as  a  speculative  philosopher.  His  reputation  in 
this  respect  is  largely  due  to  his  distinguished  disciple 
Plato,  who  introduces  Socrates  as  the  principal  speaker  in. 


160 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


a  series  of  imaginary  conversations  which  dwell  upon  the 
most  abstruse  subjects  of  thought.  These  speculations, 
however,  probably  belong  to  the  disciple  instead  of  the 
master.  Plato  has  also  written  an  “Apology,  '  or  defense 
of  Socrates  before  his  judges,  which  competent  critics  sup¬ 
pose  to  embody  the  real  defense  made  by  the  accused  phi¬ 
losopher,  and  from  which  we  give  some  extracts. 

SOCRATES  QUESTIONS  HIS  ACCUSERS. 

Socrates.  Come  hither,  Meletus,  and  let  me  ask  a  question  of 
you.  You  think  a  great  deal  about  the  improvement  of  youth? 

Meletus.  Yes;  I  do. 

Soc.  Tell  the  judges  then  who  is  their  improver;  for  you  must 
know,  as  you  have  taken  the  pains  to  discover  their  corrupter.  I 
observe,  Meletus,  that  you  are  silent,  and  have  nothing  to  say.  But 
is  not  this  rather  disgraceful,  and  a  veiy  considerable  proof  of  what 
I  was  saying,  that  you  have  no  interest  in  the  matter?  Speak  up, 
friend,  and  tell  us  who  their  improver  is. 

Mel.  The  laws. 

Soc.  But  that,  my  good  sir,  is  not  my  meaning.  I  want  to  know 
who  the  person  is  who,  in  the  first  place,  knows  the  laws. 

Mel.  The  judges,  Socrates,  who  are  present  in  court. 

Soc.  What!  do  you  mean  to  say,  Meletus,  that  they  are  able  to 
instruct  and  improve  youth  ? 

Mel.  Certainly  they  are. 

Soc.  What !  all  of  them  ?  Or  some  only,  and  not  others  ? 

Mel.  All  of  them. 

Soc.  By  the  goddess  Here,  this  is  good  news !  There  are  plenty 
of  improvers  then.  And  what  do  you  say  of  the  audience?  Do 
they  improve  them  ? 

Mel.  Yes,  they  do. 

Soc.  And  the  senators  ? 

Mel.  Yes;  the  senators  improve  them. 

Soc.  But  perhaps  the  ecclesiastics  corrupt  them?  Or  do  they 
also  improve  them  ? 

Mel.  They  improve  them. 

Soc.  Then  every  Athenian  improves  and  elevates  them ;  all  with 
the  exception  of  myself,  and  I  alone  am  their  corrupter?  Is  that 
what  you  affirm  ? 

Mel.  That  is  what  I  stoutly  affirm. 


PLATO. 


161 


Soc.  I  am  very  unfortunate  if  that  is  true.  But  suppose  I  ask 
you  a  question.  Would  you  say  that  this  also  holds  true  in  the 
case  of  a  horse?  Does  one  man  do  them  harm  and  all  the  world 
good  ?  Is  not  the  exact  opposite  of  this  true  ?  One  man  is  able  to 
do  them  good ;  or,  at  least,  not  many.  The  trainer  of  horses,  that 
is  to  say,  does  them  good,  and  others  who  have  to  do  with  them 
rather  injure  them?  Is  not  that  true,  Meletus,  of  horses  or  any 
other  animals?  Yes,  certainly.  Whether  you,  Anytus,  say  this  or 
no,  that  is  no  matter.  Happy,  indeed,  would  be  the  condition  of 
youth  if  they  had  one  corrupter  only,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world 
their  improvers.  And  you,  Meletus,  have  sufficiently  shown  that 
you  never  had  a  thought  about  the  young.  Your  carelessness  is 
seen  in  your  not  caring  about  the  matters  spoken  of  in  this  very 
indictment. 

CONCLUSION  OF  SOCRATES’  DEFENSE. 

Wherefore,  O  Judge,  be  of  good  cheer  about  death,  and  know 
this  of  a  truth,  that  no  evil  can  happen  to  the  good  man,  either  in 
life  or  after  death.  For  which  reason  I  am  not  angry  with  my 
accusers  or  my  condemners.  They  have  done  me  no  harm,  although 
neither  of  them  meant  to  do  me  any  good,  and  for  this  I  may  gently 
blame  them.  Still,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  them.  When  my  sons  are 
grown  up  I  would  ask  you,  O  my  friends,  to  punish  them;  and  I 
would  have  you  trouble  them  as  I  have  troubled  you  if  they  seem  to 
care  about  riches,  or  anything  more  than  about  virtue;  or  if  they 
pretend  to  be  something  when  they  arc  really  nothing,  then  reprove 
them  as  I  have  reproved  you,  for  not  caring  about  that  for  which  they 
ought  to  care,  and  thinking  that  they  are  something  when  they  are 
really  nothing.  And  if  you  do  this,  I  and  my  sons  will  have  re¬ 
ceived  justice  at  your  hands. 

The  hour  of  departure  has  arrived,  and  we  go  our  ways, —  I  to  die 
and  you  to  live.  Which  is  better  God  only  knows. — Jowett. 

PL  A' TO. 


BORN  429  B.C. 

Plato,  the  most  celebrated  of  the  disciples  of  Socrates, 
and  most  famous  of  philosophers  in  any  age,  had  the  good 
fortune  to  be  born  in  the  golden  period  of  Grecian  mental 
activity,  and  in  Athens,  the  center  of  that  intellectual  de- 


162 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


velopment.  He  had,  moreover,  every  advantage  of  educa¬ 
tion,  and  was  of  a  good  family  —  being  connected  on  the 
mother’s  side  with  So' Ion,  and  on  the  father’s  with  Co'drus, 
one  of  the  ancient  kings  of  Athens.  He  first  essayed  to 
distinguish  himself  in  poetry,  his  ardent  imagination  well 
qualifying  him  for  this-  branch  of  literature.  But  having, 
when  twenty  years  of  age,  become  acquainted  with  Soc¬ 
rates,  he  threw  all  his  verses  into  the  fire,  and  devoted 
his  vigorous  intellect  to  the  study  of  philosophy. 

Fearing  to  be  involved  in  the  political  troubles  of  which 
the  death  of  Socrates  was  a  symptom,  he  left  Athens  and 
retired  to  Megara,  then  the  residence  of  Euclid,  one  of  his 
fellow-pupils.  From  Megara,  he  visited  Cyrene,  Egypt, 
Magna-Graecia  and  Sicily.  In  Magna-Grsecia  he  became 
acquainted  with  the  Pythagorean  philosophy,  from  which 
he  received  as  marked  an  influence  as  he  already  had  from 
the  philosophy  of  Euclid. 

He  returned  to  Athens  in  the  fortieth  year  of  his  age, 
and  at  once  opened  his  celebrated  school  known  as  the 
Academy,  in  the  most  beautiful  suburb  of  that  city.  Here 
he  gathered  around  him  a  large  circle  of  distinguished 
followers,  and  passed  a  life  whose  tranquillity  was  inter¬ 
rupted  only  by  a  second  and  third  visit  to  Sicily. 

It  is  probable  that  the  object  of  these  visits  was  to 
realize  his  idea  of  a  moral  state,  and  by  his  education  of 
the  new  ruler  to  unite  philosophy  and  power  in  one  and 
the  same  hand.  The  character  of  the  younger  Dionysius, 
however,  was  not  favorable  to  this  attempt,  and  the  philoso¬ 
pher  found  all  his  efforts  frustrated. 

Plato  lived  to  the  age  of  eighty-two;  was  never  married; 
and  seems  to  have  been  in  easy  circumstances,  as  he  strongly 
protests  against  receiving  fees  for  the  teaching  of  philoso¬ 
phy.  He  took  no  part  in  public  affairs,  lived  absorbed  in 
the  pursuit  of  truth,  and  was  so  marked  by  gravity  and 


PLATO. 


163 


melancholy  that  the  saying  became  common,  “  as  sad  as 
Plato.” 

The  principles  of  his  philosophy  are,  fortunately,  well 
known,  as  his  great  works  have  all  been  preserved.  In 
these  works  the  imagination  of  the  poet  is  happily  blended 
with  the  reasoning  of  the  philosopher,  producing  the  fine 
myths  which  form  the  peroration  of  some  of  his  dialogues, 
and  the  dramatic  form  into  which  they  are  thrown. 

In  these  dialogues  the  character  of  the  speakers  is  closely 
preserved,  each  giving  his  partial  views  on  the  profound 
subjects  of  speculation  debated.  Socrates  is  usually  intro¬ 
duced  as  the  chief  personage  in  the  philosophic  drama, 
employing  his  shrewd  method  of  questioning  to  fully  un¬ 
fold  the  problem  involved,  and  commonly  ending  with 
an  exposition  of  the  subject  in  which  Plato's  own  views  are 
probably  embodied. 

The  system  of  philosophy  involved  in  these  works  has  been 
divided  into  three  parts,  namely,  dialectics,  physics,  and 
ethics.  In  the  dialectical  portion  he  teaches  the  doctrine 
of  ideas  as  opposed  to  realism.  Whether  he  carried  this 
so  far  as  to  deny  the  actual  existence  of  matter  is  not 
clearly  defined;  but  he  looked  on  ideas  as  the  archetype 
of  all  visible  things,  and  as  the  underlying,  abstract  exist¬ 
ences  to  which  the  material  world  is  due;  upholding  the 
supremacy  of  thought  as  contrasted  with  sensation,  of 
mind  as  opposed  to  matter,  and  of  the  internal  force  as 
compared  with  the  external  form  through  which  it  is 
manifested. 

Carrying  this  view  to  its  highest  limit  he  evolved  the 
idea  of  the  Good,  as  the  ultimate  of  knowledge,  and  the 
independent  groundwork  of  all  other  ideas.  The  Good  has 
unconditioned  worth,  and  gives  to  every  other  thing  all  the 
value  it  possesses.  It  is  the  basis  of  knowing  and  being,  of 
subject  and  object,  of  the  real  and  the  ideal,  though  in  itself 
above  all  such  division.  It  is  probable  that  Plato  looked 


164 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


upon  the  Good  as  synonymous  with  the  Deity;  though 
whether  he  viewed  this  first  cause  as  a  personal  being  or 
not,  hardly  admits  of  a  definite  answer. 

The  Platonic  physics  are  less  fully  developed  than  the 
dialectics.  In  his  days  physical  science  was  almost  an  un¬ 
known  element  of  education.  Nature  had  never  been  sub¬ 
jected  to  accurate  observation,  as  she  was  afterward  by 
Aristotle  and  the  Alexandrians;  and  science,  in  the  modern 
sense,  could  not  be  said  to  exist.  In  the  Timwus  lie  gives  a 
summary  of  the  views  on  physics  current  in  his  time,  from 
which  he  deduces  a  conception  of  the  world-soul,  or  the 
material  world  as  the  image  of  the  ideal  Good.  His  phys¬ 
ical  teachings  have  no  scientific  value,  their  chief  merit 
resting  in  this  conception  of  the  Good  actualizing  itself  in 
a  world  organism  of  order,  harmony,  and  beauty. 

He  considers  the  human  soul  as  composed  of  two  essential 
elements:  the  mortal,  in  which  it  is  united  with  the  perish¬ 
able  body;  and  the  immortal,  comprising  its  knowledge  of 
ideas,  in  which  it  displays  a  divine  principle  of  reason.  These 
two  components  are  joined  by  an  intermediate  link,  which  he 
calls  spirit.  His  celebrated  argument  for  the  Immortality 
of  the  Soul  —  as  given  in  the  Phot' don  —  is  based  upon  its 
capacity  for  thinking,  which  allies  it  with  reason,  or  the 
divine  nature.  His  arguments  are  wholly  analytical,  and 
show  not  only  an  obscure  conception  of  the  soul,  but  of  its 
relations  to  the  body  and  the  reason,  and  at  best  would  only 
prove  the  immortality  of  him  who  has  elevated  his  soul  to 
the  condition  of  a  pure  spirit,  i.e.  of  the  philosopher. 

In  the  Platonic  ethics  the  conception  of  pleasure  is  inves¬ 
tigated,  and  the  necessary  connection  between  true  pleasure 
and  virtue  inculcated.  His  theory  of  virtue  is  wholly  So- 
cratic.  It  is  science,  and  therefore  teachable.  It  is  single 
in  nature,  yet  manifold  in  condition.  Its  highest  manifesta¬ 
tion  is  in  Justice,  the  bond  and  center  of  all  the  elements  of 
moral  culture.  Justice  takes  us  beyond  the  narrow  circle 


PLATO. 


165 


of  individual  life.  It  is  the  State  —  the  moral  life  in  its 
totality. 

The  most  complete  exposition  of  the  opinions  of  Plato 
are  to  be  found  in  the  Republic ,  in  which  he  draws  a  picture 
of  an  ideal  commonwealth,  whose  rulers  are  to  be  perfectly 
educated  and  developed  men,  and  the  individual  to  be  ut¬ 
terly  subordinated  to  the  state;  the  commonwealth  thus 
having  a  unity  resembling  that  displayed  by  the  human 
body  in  its  subordination  of  its  various  organs.  This  ground¬ 
work  of  a  transcendental  government  is  made  the  basis  for 
an  exposition  of  the  author’s  views,  on  the  necessity  of  virtue 
to  the  very  idea  of  social  life,  and  on  the  just  process  for  a 
complete  moral  and  scientific  education. 

He  acknowledges  that  such  a  state  as  he  describes  cannot 
be  found  upon  earth,  and  has  its  archetype  only  in  heaven; 
but  demands  that  efforts  should  be  made  to  realize  it  here. 
The  impracticable  nature  of  his  political  views  are  best 
shown  in  his  own  efforts  in  this  direction,  as  already  men¬ 
tioned  in  his  connection  with  Dionysius  of  Sicily. 

We  may  conclude  this  brief  exposition  of  his  views  with 
the  following  extract  from  Emerson,  showing  the  position 
our  author  still  holds  in  the  world  of  thought. 

Of  Plato  I  hesitate  to  speak,  lest  there  should  be  no  end.  He 
contains  the  future,  as  lie  came  out  of  the  past.  In  Plato,  you  ex¬ 
plore  modern  Europe  in  its  causes  and  seed, —  all  that  in  thought 
which  the  history  of  Europe  embodies  or  has  yet  to  embody.  The 
well-informed  man  finds  himself  anticipated.  Plato  is  up  with  him 
too.  Nothing  has  escaped  him.  Every  new  crop  in  the  fertile 
harvest  of  reform,  every  fresh  suggestion  of  modern  humanity,  is 
there.  If  the  student,  wish  to  see  both  sides,  and  justice  done  to 
the  man  of  the  world,  pitiless  exposure  of  pedants,  and  the  suprem¬ 
acy  of  truth  and  the  religious  sentiment,  he  shall  be  contented  also. 
Why  should  not  young  men  be  educated  on  this  book?  It  would 
suffice  for  the  tuition  of  the  race, —  to  test  their  understanding,  and 
to  express  their  reason. 


166 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


FROM  THE  PH M  DON. - ON  IMMORTALITY. 

Since  it  is  not  possible  to  know  anything  rightly  while  we  are 
in  the  body,  one  of  two  things  must  be  true.  Either  we  shall  never 
know  anything,  or  we  shall  have  true  knowledge  after  our  death; 
for  then,  and  not  till  then,  will  the  soul  act  independently  of  the 
body.  And  during  life  we  shall  ever  come  nearest  to  true  knowl¬ 
edge  if  we  have  as  little  as  possible  to  do  with  the  body,  which  is 
not  absolutely  necessary;  if  we  do  not  allow  its  nature  to  dominate 
over  us,  but  keep  ourselves  from  its  taint  till  God  himself  shall  lib¬ 
erate  us  from  it.  And  then,  purged  from  its  absurdities,  we  shall 
be  in  the  company,  as  I  trust,  of  others  who  are  in  the  same  condi¬ 
tion,  and  shall  know  the  pure  essence  of  things;  that  is,  as  I  judge, 
the  truth.  But  those  who  are  not  pure  themselves  cannot  attain  to 
what  is  pure.  .  .  . 

It  is  right  to  bear  in  mind  this,  that  if  the  soul  be  immortal  it 
requires  our  care,  not  only  during  the  time  that  we  call  life,  but  for 
all  time:  and  great  is  our  danger  if  we  neglect  it.  If  death  were 
the  end  of  all,  it  would  be  a  gain  for  the  wicked  to  get  rid  of  their 
body  and  of  their  wickedness  at.  the  same  time,  when  their  soul 
departs.  But  since  the  soul  is  immortal  there  is  no  hold  for  it  ex¬ 
cept  to  make  it  good  and  wise,  for  it  carries  nothing  with  it  into 
the  other  world  but  the  preparations  which  it  has  received  here. 

FROM  THE  SYMPOSIUM. - IDEAL  BEAUTY. 

And  the  true  order  of  going  or  being  led  by  others  to  the 
things  of  love,  is  to  use  the  beauties  of  earth  as  steps,  along  which 
we  mount  upward  for  the  sake  of  the  higher  beauty;  going  from  one 
to  two,  and  from  two  to  all  fair  forms;  and  from  fair  forms  to  fair 
actions;  and  from  fair  actions  to  fair  notions;  until  from  fair  notions 
we  arrive  at  the  notion  of  absolute  beauty,  and  at  last  know  what 
the  essence  of  beauty  is.  This  is  that  life  above  all  others  which 
man  should  live,  in  the  contemplation  of  beauty  absolute,  a  beauty 
which,  if  3rou  obce  beheld,  you  would  see  not  to  be  after  the  measure 
of  gold  and  garments  and  fair  youths ;  which,  when  you  now  behold, 
you  are  in  fond  amazement ;  and  you,  and  many  a  one,  are  content 
to  live  seeing  only  and  conversing  with  them;  without  meat  or 
drink,  if  that  were  possible. 

But  what  if  man  had  eyes  to  see  the  true  beauty,  the  divine 
beauty,  I  mean,  pure  and  clear  and  unalloyed;  not  clogged  with 
the  pollutions  of  mortality,  and  all  the  colors  and  vanities  of  human 


PLATO. 


167 


life;  thither  looking  and  holding  converse  with  the  true  beauty 
divine  and  simple;  and  bringing  into  being  and  educating  true  cre¬ 
ations  of  virtue,  and  not  idols  only?  Do  you  not  see  that  in  that 
communion,  only  beholding  beauty  with  the  eye  of  the  mind,  we 
will  be  enabled  to  bring  forth,  not  images  of  beauty,  but  realities, — 
for  we  have  hold  not  of  an  image,  but  of  a  reality, —  and  bringing 
forth  and  educating  true  virtue,  to  become  the  friend  of  God,  if 
mortal  man  may?  Would  that  be  an  ignoble  life? 

FROM  THE  PARMENIDES. - THE  NATURE  OF  IDEAS. 

Socrates.  But  may  not  the  ideas  be  thoughts  only,  and  have  no 
proper  existence  except  in  our  minds,  Parmenides?  For  in  that 
case  each  idea  may  still  be  one,  and  not  experience  this  infinite  sub¬ 
division. 

Parmenides.  And  can  there  be  individual  thoughts  which  are 
thoughts  of  nothing? 

Soc.  That  is  impossible. 

Par.  The  thought  must  be  of  something? 

Soc.  Yes. 

Par.  Of  something  that  is,  or  is  not  ? 

Soc.  Of  something  that  is. 

Par.  Must  it  be  of  a  single  something,  which  the  thought  recog¬ 
nizes  as  attaching  to  all  being? 

Soc.  Yes. 

Par.  And  will  not  this  something,  so  apprehended,  which  is 
always  the  same,  be  an  idea? 

Soc.  From  that  again  there  is  no  escape. 

Par.  Then  if  you  say  that  everything  else  participates  in  the 
ideas,  must  you  not  say,  either  that  everything  is  made  up  of  these, 
and  that  all  things  think;  or  that  these  are  thoughts  having  no 
thought? 

Soc  But  that,  Parmenides,  is  no  more  rational  than  the  other. 
The  more  probable  view  is  that  the  ideas  are  patterns  fixed  in 
nature,  and  that  other  things  are  like  them,  and  resemblances  of 
them;  and  that  what  is  meant  by  the  participation  of  other  things 
in  the  ideas,  is  really  assimilation  to  them. 

FROM  THE  LY'siS. - FRIENDSHIP. 

But  first  of  all  I  must  tell  you  that  I  am  one  who  from  my  child¬ 
hood  upward  have  set  my  heart  upon  a  certain  thing.  All  people 
have  their  fancies.  Some  desire  horses,  and  others  dogs;  some  are 


168 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


fond  of  gold,  and  others  of  honor.  Now  I  have  no  violent  desire 
for  any  of  these  things;  but  I  have  a  passion  for  friends;  and  I 
would  rather  have  a  good  friend  than  the  best  cock  or  quail  in  the 
world; — I  would  even  go  further  and  say,  than  a  horse  or  a  dog. 
Yea,  by  the  dog  of  Egypt,  I  should  greatly  prefer  a  real  friend  to  all 
the  gold  of  Dari' us,  or  even  to  Darius  himself.  I  am  such  a  lover 
of  friends  as  that. — Joioett. 

AR'ISTOTLE. 

BORN  384  B.C. 

Aristotle,  the  first  of  Grecian  scientists,  and  sharing 
with  Plato  the  loftiest  place  in  ancient  philosophy,  was 
born  at  Stagi'ra,  a  Grecian  colonial  town  in  Thrace.  His 
father  was  physician  to  Amyn'tas  II,  grandfather  of  Alex¬ 
ander  the  Great,  and  the  practice  of  physic  seems  to  have 
been  hereditary  in  his  family.  Early  education  in  this 
direction  may  have  given  him  his  future  taste  for  dissec¬ 
tion  and  other  studies  in  natural  history.  Losing  his 
parents  in  early  youth,  he  is  said  by  some  to  have  squan¬ 
dered  his  patrimony  in  dissipation,  though  others  assert 
that  he  became  a  pupil  of  Plato  at  the  age  of  seventeen. 
It  was  not  long  before  his  vigorous  intellect  made  itself 
felt,  under  the  lead  of  this  skillful  teacher;  so  much  so 
that  Plato  is  said  to  have  spoken  of  him  as  the  “  mind  of 
the  school,”  declaring  that  “  Xenocrates  needed  the  spur 
and  Aristotle  the  bit.” 

He  remained  in  Athens,  under  the  instruction  of  Plato, 
for  twenty  years;  but  of  his  life  during  this  period  we 
only  know  that  he  set  up  a  class  of  rhetoric  in  opposition 
to  the  celebrated  orator  Isocrates,  whose  teachings  he  seems 
to  have  attacked  with  great  severity.  It  has  been  charged 
that  he  displayed  jealousy  and  ingratitude  toward  Plato, 
but  this  appears  to  be  not  well  substantiated. 

After  the  death  of  Plato,  in  347  b.c.,  Aristotle  left 
Athens,  retiring  to  Atarn'eus,  in  Asia  Minor.  Here  he 


ARISTOTLE. 


169 


lived  for  three  years  in  close  friendship  with  Hermi'as,  the 
ruler  of  that  town.  After  Hermias  had  been  betrayed 
into  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  the  Persians,  Aristotle  took 
refuge  in  Mitvlene,  on  the  island  of  Lesbos,  taking  with 
him  Pythias,  the  sister  of  Hermias,  whom  he  made  his 
wife.  In  the  year  342  he  was  invited  by  Philip  of  Mace¬ 
donia,  to  take  charge  of  the  education  of  his  son  Alexander, 
then  thirteen  vears  of  age.  He  was  received  at  the  Mace- 
donian  court  with  great  honor  and  respect,  remaining  the 
friend  and  tutor  of  the  future  conqueror  until  334  b.c., 
the  period  of  Alexander’s  expedition  to  Asia. 

After  this  event  Aristotle  returned  to  Athens  and 
opened  a  school  called  the  Ly'ceum,  from  whose  shady 
walks  his  sect  received  the  name  of  the  Peripatet'ic.  His 
principal  writings  were  probably  composed  during  this 
period,  though  we  know  nothing  of  their  dates.  It  appears 
to  have  been  his  habit,  in  his  morning  lectures,  to  instruct 
his  more  advanced  pupils  in  the  profoundest  problems  of 
philosophy,  and  to  give  popular  instruction  to  a  more  gen¬ 
eral  audience  in  the  evening. 

After  twelve  years  thus  spent  the  anti-Macedonian  party 
obtained  ascendancv  at  Athens,  one  of  its  first  acts  being  to 
accuse  Aristotle  of  impiety  to  the  Gods.  In  order  to  escape 
a  fate  similar  to  that  of  Socrates  he  fled  to  Chalcis  in  the 
early  part  of  the  year  322.  In  this  town  he  died  in  the 
autumn  of  the  same  year,  aged  sixty-two. 

Aristotle  left  a  vast  number  of  writings,  of  which  per¬ 
haps  a  fourth,  but  unquestionably  the  most  valuable  por¬ 
tion,  has  come  down  to  us.  They  are,  however,  largely 
fragmentary  in  form,  and  often  so  confused  and  contra¬ 
dictory  that  it  is  possible  we  have  only  his  oral  lectures, 
as  written  down  and  subsequently  edited  by  his  scholars. 
These  works  may  be  classed  under  the  various  heads  of 
rhetoric,  poetry,  politics,  ethics,  physics,  mathematics,  logic, 
and  metaphysics. 

8  ' 


170 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


The  genius  of  Aristotle  was  as  wide  as  Nature  itself. 
He  studied  all  things;  both  absorbing  the  preceding  learn¬ 
ing  of  the  Greeks  and  extending  the  boundaries  of  knowl¬ 
edge  on  all  sides  until  his  works  attained  an  encyclopedic 
extent.  He  not  only  treated  on  all  existing  subjects  of 
thought,  but  created  new  worlds  in  the  domain  of  science 
for  his  active  mind  to  conquer.  Thus  logic  may  be  said 
to  owe  its  existence  to  him,  and  was  so  exhaustively  treated 
that  not  until  the  present  century  has  any  addition  been 
made  to  it. 

In  his  philosophic  conceptions  he  differs  widely  from 
Plato,  keenly  combating  the  theory  of  ideas  and  teaching 
that  experience  is  the  only  true  basis  of  knowledge,  and 
that  all  reasoning  must  be  founded  upon  the  existing  facts 
of  nature.  This  theory  of  induction  he  has  carried  into 
practical  effect  in  his  great  work  on  animals,  in  which  he 
has  gathered  a  large  stock  of  genuine  observations,  and 
deduced  from  them  a  system  of  zoological  classification 
which  remains  the  groundwork  of  all  modern  systems. 
He  has  also  written  largely  on  the  human  body  and  mind, 
viewing  man  as  the  end  to  which  all  nature  is  constantly 
tending;  while  his  studies  in  mental  science  remain  valu¬ 
able  even  at  the  present  day. 

In  rhetoric  and  the  principles  of  poetry  he  has  given  us 
the  earliest  philosophy  of  criticism,  his  views  on  these  sub¬ 
jects  being  still  studied.  One  of  his  greatest  works  is  that 
on  politics.  It  differs  widely  from  Plato’s  Republic,  being 
based  on  actual  observation  and  historical  study,  he  having 
himself  collected  one  hundred  and  fifty-eight  different  con¬ 
stitutions  of  states,  from  which  he  deduces  the  just  princi¬ 
ples  of  existing  politics,  in  contradistinction  to  the  ideal 
system  of  Plato. 

He  has  left,  moreover,  valuable  treatises  on  physiology, 
metaphysics  and  ethics,  being  the  originator  of  the  first 
of  these  sciences,  and  in  the  last  treating  of  virtue  from 


AKISTOTLE. 


171 


an  empirical  point  of  view,  as  a  development  from  the 
practice  of  morality. 

His  treatises  on  Astronomy,  Mechanics  and  Physics  fail 
to  possess  the  value  of  the  other  works  mentioned,  being 
entirely  without  merit  in  the  present  state  of  these  sciences. 
He  was  led  away  by  fancies,  which  he  accepted  from  the 
teachings  of  his  contemporaries,  and  which  yielded  the  most 
unsound  conclusions.  His  theory  of  the  rotation  of  the 
sphere,  of  the  necessary  perfection  of  circular  motion,  of 
the  impossibility  of  a  vacuum,  etc.,  did  more  to  confuse 
than  to  explain  the  phenomena  of  nature. 

In  style  of  writing  Aristotle  differed  essentially  from 
his  predecessors.  The  ardent  imagination  of  Plato  was 
replaced  in  him  by  the  most  prosaic  mode  of  thought. 
Instead  of  the  mythical  and  poetical  dress  of  the  Platonic 
dialogues  he  presents  us  with  a  rigid,  unadorned  reasoning; 
and  the  Hellenic  form  to  which  philosophy  was  confined  by 
his  predecessors  is  enlarged  by  him  into  a  universal  and  all- 
embracing  scope  and  meaning.  His  concise  and  peculiar 
manner  renders  his  works  somewhat  difficult  to  read,  it 
needing  a  good  Greek  scholar  to  peruse  Aristotle  with 
intelligence  and  promptitude. 

In  the  Middle  Ages  the  works  of  Aristotle  ruled  with  a 
tyrannous  sway  that  rendered  the  schools  but  little  more 
than  barren  expounders  of  his  philosophy,  as  they  under¬ 
stood  it.  They  had  but  incomplete  versions  of  his  works, 
and  from  these  the  Scholastics  deduced  a-  series  of  absurd 
formulas  that  left  scarcely  a  glimmering  of  their  true 
meaning  visible. 

It  was  only  at  a  later  period  that  the  philosophy  of 
Plato,  which  always  retained  a  circle  of  adherents,  rose 
into  active  opposition,  and  successfully  contested  the  field  of 
thought  with  this  Aristotelian  rule. 


172 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


TRUE  COURAGE. 

The  timid  man  is -helpless,  for  he  fears  all  things;  but  the 
brave  man  is  the  contrary,  for  confidence  is  the  province  of  the 
man  who  hopes  for  the  best.  The  timid,  the  audacious,  and  the 
brave  man  are  conversant  with  the  same  things,  but  they  are  differ¬ 
ently  affected  toward  them.  Audacious  men  are  precipitate,  and 
wish  to  encounter  dangers  before  they  arrive.  But  when  they 
arrive  they  are  deficient  in  fortitude.  Brave  men,  however,  are 
ardent  in  encountering  danger,  but  before  it  arrives  they  are  quiet. 
They  choose  and  encounter  danger  because  it  is  beautiful  to  do  so, 
or  not  to  do  so  is  base.  But  to  die  in  order  to  avoid  poverty,  or  on 
account  of  love,  or  something  painful,  is  not  the  province  of  the 
brave,  but  rather  of  the  timid  man.  For  it  is  effeminate  to  fly  from 
things  laborious;  and  such  do  not  endure  because  it  is  beautiful  to 
endure,  but  in  order  to  tfy  from  evil. — Taylor. 

PITY  CONTRASTED  TO  ENVY. 

To  pity  is  opposed  most  directly  that  feeling  which  men  call 
indignation.  For  to  the  feeling  pain  at  undeserved  misfortune  is 
opposed  in  a  certain  way  the  feeling  pain  at  undeserved  good  for¬ 
tune,  and  it  originates  in  the  same  disposition;  and  these  feelings 
are  both  those  of  a  virtuous  disposition.  For  we  ought  to  sym¬ 
pathize  with  and  to  pity  those  who  are  undeservedly  unfortunate, 
and  to  feel  indignation  at  those  who  are  undeservedly  fortunate;  for 
whatever  happens  contrary  to  desert  is  unjust;  and  on  this  account 
we  make  indignation  an  attribute  even  of  the  Gods. 

Envy,  too,  seems  to  stand  opposed  to  pity  in  the  same  way;  and 
yet  it  really  is  distinct.  For  envy  is  also  a  pain  causing  agitation; 
it  also  is  felt  at  good  fortune; — not,  however,  at  the  good  fortune  of 
the  undeserving,  but  of  equals  and  fellows. — Buckley. 

POETIC  UNITY. 

A  fable  is  one,  not,  as  some  suppose,  if  one  person  is  the  subject 
of  it;  for  many  events,  which  are  infinite  in  kind,  happen  to  one 
man,  from  a  certain  number  of  which  no  one  event  arises.  Homer, 
as  he  excelled  in  other  things,  appears  likewise  to  have  seen  this 
clearly,  whether  from  art  or  from  nature.  For  in  composing  the 
Odyssey  he  has  not  related  everything  which  happened  to  Ulysses, 
such  as  the  being  wounded  in  Parnassus,  and  professing  to  be 
insane  at  the  muster  of  the  Greeks;  one  of  which  taking  place  it 


ARISTOTLE. 


173 


was  not  necessary  or  probable  that  the  other  would  happen.  But 
he  composed  the  Odyssey,  as  also  the  Iliad,  on  one  action. — Buckley. 

ANGER  A  TRANSITORY  FEELING. 

Men  are  placable  when  in  a  frame  of  mind  contrary  to  the 
feeling  of  anger.  Those,  too,  who  have  suffered  some  time  to 
elapse,  and  are  not  fresh  from  the  influence  of  anger.  For  time 
makes  anger  cease.  Also  vengeance  previously  taken  on  one  object 
allays  the  anger  felt  against  another,  even  if  it  be  more  violent. 
For  which  reason  Philoc'rates,  when  some  one  asked  him  how  it 
was,  as  the  populace  were  enraged  with  him,  that  he  had  not  made 
his  defense,  very  justly  said: 

“  I  will  not  do  it  yet.” 

“  But  when  will  you?” 

“  I  will  do  it  when  I  see  some  one  else  criminated.” 

For  people,  after  they  have  exhausted  their  anger  on  some  other 
object,  become  placable;  which  happened  in  the  case  of  Ergo'- 
pliilus.  For  the  populace,  though  more  indignant  with  him  than 
with  Callis'thenes,  yet  acquitted  him,  because  on  the  day  before 
they  had  condemned  Callistlienes  to  death. — Buckley. 


TRANSITION. 

We  see  that  the  man  is  produced  from  the  boy,  as  the  thing 
that  has  been  from  that  which  is  in  a  process  of  formation ;  or 
that  which  has  been  finished  from  that  which  is  being  finished; 
or  tends  toward  perfection.  For  always  is  there  a  certain  medium, 
as  the  medium  between  existence  and  non-existence;  so  also  is  the 
thing  that  is  being  produced  between  entity  and  non-entity;  and 
the  person  that  is  receiving  instruction  is  one  becoming  scien¬ 
tifically  learned.  And  this  is  the  meaning  of  what  is  affirmed,  that 
from  the  person  learning  is  produced  one  that  is  scientifically 
learned;  just  as  water  is  generated  from  air  on  account  of  the  air 
having  undergone  corruption. — McMahon. 


THE  LATER  PHILOSOPHY. 


The  productive  energy  of  Grecian  philosophy  expends 
itself  with  Aristotle,  in  connection  with  the  universal  de¬ 
cay  of  Grecian  life  and  spirit.  We  have,  in  the  succeed¬ 
ing  period,  no  all-embracing  systems,  like  those  taught  by 
Plato  and  Aristotle,  but  partial  and  one-sided  speculations. 
Weary  of  the  effort  to  refer  the  subject  and  object,  mind 
and  matter,  to  one  ultimate  basis,  in  the  new  philosophy 
the  subject  breaks  with  the  object,  and  directs  all  its  atten¬ 
tion  toward  itself  in  its  own  self-consciousness. 

The  result  of  this  gives  us  four  separate  schools,  all 
based  upon  one  phase  or  other  of  this  principle  of  com¬ 
plete  subjectivity. 

One  form  of  this  we  have  in  the  school  of  the  Stoics, 
who  base  philosophy  on  the  principle  of  moral  activity; 
and  in  the  self-sufficiency  of  the  sage  become  indifferent 
to  all  external  good  and  every  objective  labor. 

The  foundation  of  this  school  is  generally  ascribed  to 
Zeno  of  Citium,  who,  after  losing  his  propert}'-  by  shipwreck, 
took  refuge  from  grief  in  philosophy.  Having  studied 
various  systems,  he  opened  a  school  of  his  own  in  the 
“  variegated  porch,”  so  called  from  its  being  adorned  with 
the  paintings  of  Polygno'tus.  From  this  his  adherents 
received  the  name  of  “  philosophers  of  the  porch  ”  (Stoics). 

He  was  followed  by  Clean'thes,  who  faithfully  carried 
out  his  system.  To  him  succeeded  Chrysip'pus,  the  most 
noted  of  these  philosophers.  He  was  a  voluminous  writer, 
his  works  being  said  to  have  amounted  to  seven  hundred 

and  five.  They  are  all  lost,  however. 

174 


THE  LATER  PHILOSOPHY. 


175 


The  Stoical  system  was  more  in  vogue  at  Rome  than 
any  of  its  rival  schools.  Its  principles  of  self-control, 
moral  energy,  and  philosophic  indifference  to  wealth  or 
pleasure,  could  be  easily  appreciated  by  the  practical- 
minded  Roman,  on  whom  the  deep  speculations  of  other 
systems  made  no  impression.  The  Latin  mind  almost 
utterly  lacked  the  speculative  tendency  of  the  Greek. 

Contemporary  with  this  school  was  that  known  as  the 
Epicurean,  which  also  obtained  a  footing  in  Rome.  In  this 
system  of  philosophy  the  one  aim  of  life  is  the  attainment 
of  happiness.  Not,  however,  in  the  enjoyment  of  gross 
pleasures,  but  in  the  inner  sense  of  contentment,  and  the 
repose  of  a  satisfied  mind,  enjoying  the  past  and  the  pres¬ 
ent  and  devoid  of  fear  for  the  future. 

This  school  also  arose  at  Athens,  almost  contemporane¬ 
ously  with  the  Porch;  Epicu'rus,  its  founder,  being  born  342 
b.c.,  six  years  after  the  death  of  Plato.  In  his  thirty-sixth 
year  he  opened  a  school  of  philosophy,  over  which  he  presided 
till  his  death,  271  b.c.  His  disciples  and  adherents  formed 
a  social  league,  in  which  they  were  united  by  the  closest 
bonds  of  friendship.  They  have  been  accused  of  great 
voluptuousness,  but  much  of  this  is,  undoubtedly,  calumny. 
The  moral  conduct  of  Epicurus,  though  frequently  assailed, 
was,  according  to  the  best  authorities,  blameless,  and  his 
personal  character  estimable  and  amiable.  He  was  a  volu¬ 
minous  writer,  surpassing,  in  this  respect,  even  Aristotle, 
and  exceeded  by  Chrysippus  alone. 

The  third  system  referred  to  was  that  known  as  Scepti¬ 
cism.  In  this  the  subjective  tendency  was  carried  to  its 
most  extreme  limits,  the  Skeptics  doubting  and  rejecting 
all  objective  truth  and  science,  and  holding  that  abstinence 
from  all  positive  opinion  is  followed  by  freedom  from  all 
mental  disturbance,  in  which  freedom  happiness  consists. 
They  carried  this  so  far  as  to  resort  to  a  series  of  artifices 
in  order  to  avoid  making  any  positive  assertion;  using, 


176 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


instead,  doubtful  expressions,  such  as:  It  is  possible ;  It 
may  be  so;  Perhaps;  I  assert  nothing  —  not  even  that  I 
assert  nothing. 

Pyr'rho  of  Elis,  possibly  a  contemporary  of  Aristotle, 
was  the  head  of  the  older  Sceptics.  He  left  no  writings, 
and  we  are  dependent  for  a  knowledge  of  his  opinions  on 
his  follower,  Timon  of  Philius.  Scepticism,  however,  as¬ 
sumed  its  greatest  significance  as  it  appeared  in  the  Pla¬ 
tonic  school  established  by  Arcesila'us,  and  known  as  the 
New  Academy.  Arcesilaus  maintained  his  position  in  the 
Academy  only  by  asserting  that  his  sceptical  views  were 
essentially  those  of  Socrates  and  Plato,  and  that  he  simply 
restored  the  original  significance  of  Platonism.  His  teach- 
ings  were  marked  by  a  vigorous  opposition  to  the  dogmatic 
system  advanced  by  the  Stoics. 

A  later  scepticism  arose  at  a  period  when  Grecian  phi¬ 
losophy  had  wholly  fallen  into  decay.  The  principal  names 
attached  to  it  are  iEneside'mus,  who  probably  lived  a  little 
after  the  time  of  Cicero;  Agrip'pa,  of  later  date,  and 
Sextus  Empi'ricus,  who  lived  after  200  a.d.  The  last  of 
these  has  left  two  writings,  which  are  valuable  as  being  the 
sources  of  much  historical  information. 

The  latest  of  the  ancient  philosophical  systems  is  that 
known  as  Neo-Platonism.  It  is  marked  by  the  same  es¬ 
sential  character  as  the  three  systems  last  mentioned,  its 
doctrines  turning  wholly  upon  the  exaltation  of  the  subject 
to  the  absolute.  It  teaches  the  possibility  of  comprehend¬ 
ing  the  absolute;  not  by  thought  or  knowledge,  but  by 
an  immediate  beholding,  or  ecstatic  vision;  and  advances 
a  theory  of  emanation  in  which  the  existing  world  is  an 
effluence  of  God,  and  in  which  the  degree  of  nearness  to 
this  ultimate  source  is  the  measure  of  the  degree  of  per¬ 
fection  of  any  object. 

The  first  and  most  important  of  the  teachers  of  New 
Platonism  was  Ploti'nus,  who  was  born  205  a.d.,  and  who 


THE  LATER  PHILOSOPHY. 


177 


taught  philosophy  at  Rome  from  245  to  270  a.d.  His 
opinions  are  contained  in  a  series  of  hastily  written  trea¬ 
tises,  which  were  published,  after  his  death,  by  Porphyry, 
his  most  noted  disciple,  who  taught  philosophy  and  eloquence 
at  Rome. 

From  Rome  the  system  of  Plotinus  passed  in  the  fourth 
century  to  Athens,  where  it  established  itself  in  the  Acade¬ 
my.  Its  most  prominent  later  teachers  were  Iam'blichus, 
who  flourished  in  the  fourth,  and  Pro'clus,  who  dates  from 
the  fifth  century. 

With  the  triumph  of  Christianity  and  the  consequent 
fall  of  heathenism,  in  the  course  of  the  sixth  century,  even 
this  last  bloom  of  Grecian  philosophy  faded  away. 


THE  GRECIAN  SCHOOL  OF  ORATORY. 


To  the  active  intellect  and  excitable  nature  of  the  early 
Greeks  the  art  of  oratory  was  especially  adapted.  Particu¬ 
larly  among  the  Athenians  was  it  called  into  requisition, 
their  leisure  being  so  largely  spent  in  the  theatre,  the 
political  forum,  the  courts,  and  the  philosophical  schools; 
while  their  democratic  government  gave  every  citizen  an 
equal  voice  in  the  law-making  and  ruling  powers,  causing 
the  eloquence  of  the  orator  to  become  essential  to  the 
success  of  the  politician. 

Books  were  not  plentiful  in  Athens,  yet  her  citizens, 
as  a  rule,  were  well  educated,  their  culture  coming  in 
large  part  from  the  scenic  displays  of  the  dramatist  and 
the  voice  of  the  orator;  while  their  fondness  for  forensic 
eloquence  was  such  that  the  six  thousand  jurymen,  who 
were  occasionally  required  in  the  ten  law  courts  of  Athens, 
were  always  obtained  without  difficulty.  Indeed,  the  passion 
for  hearing  and  deciding  questions,  judicial  and  political, 
was  carried  to  great  excess  at  the  flourishing  period  of  the 
city’s  existence,  and  there  was  every  inducement  held  out 
to  the  orator,  in  the  high  honor  and  reputation  which 
attended  success. 

The  fondness  for  oratory  which  still  prevails  is  but  a 
shadow  of  that  displayed  by  these  ancient  Greeks.  The 
outdoor  life  of  the  free  citizens  of  Athens,  their  cheerful, 
active,  excitable  dispositions,  and  their  ardent  love  of  dis¬ 
putation,  yielded  to  the  public  speaker  a  fertile  field  of  labor. 
Nor  had  he  our  quiet,  grave  audiences.  His  hearers  gave 
the  freest  expression  to  their  applause,  disapprobation,  or 

critical  opinion;  being  unequaled  in  their  knowledge  of 

178 


THE  GRECIAN  SCHOOL  OF  ORATORY. 


179 


what  constituted  perfect  oratory,  their  keen  artistic  taste, 
and  their  quick  and  severe  judgments,  from  which  they 
allowed  no  appeal.  To  such  an  extent  was  this  carried 
that  Demosthenes  was  hissed,  in  one  of  his  early  speeches, 
for  using  a  false  accent;  and  Euripides  gave  offense  by  em¬ 
ploying  the  letter  sigma  too  often  in  a  single  line. 

This  wide-spread  love  and  appreciation  of  oratory  natu¬ 
rally  called  forth  finished  productions,  and  caused  many  to 
make  the  study  of  rhetoric  and  eloquence  their  life  occupa¬ 
tion.  Politics  was  the  business  of  an  Athenian.  Literature 
was  his  recreation.  Both  were  to  be  found  in  the  speeches 
of  the  public  orator.  With  this  incitement  in  view  their 
speeches  were  prepared  with  the  utmost  care,  attention 
being  paid  alike  to  the  form  of  the  oration  as  a  whole,  and 
the  rhythm  of  its  single  sentences,  while  the  essentials  of 
attitude,  action  and  gesture  were  elaborated  to  an  extent 
to  which  we  now  give  little  heed.  The  orator  needed  to  be 
thoroughly  cultured.  Poetry,  law,  logic  and  rhetoric  were 
all  studied,  and  nothing  that  could  give  superior  excellence 
to  his  art  was  neglected. 

Yet  only  at  Athens  were  there  the  requisite  conditions 
to  produce  a  flourishing  state  of  this  form  of  literature.  It 
was  largely  cultivated  to  procure  the  favor  of  the  demo¬ 
cratic  people.  This  naturally  led  to  more  worthy  objects, 
and  produced  orations  in  which  the  masses  were  swayed  to 
just  conclusions  despite  their  prejudices.  Politicians  rose 
rapidly  to  power  and  influence  by  the  aid  of  their  silver- 
tongued  speeches,  and,  like  Pericles  for  instance,  ruled  the 
city  for  years  with  an  almost  absolute  sway.  Even  the  his¬ 
torians  acknowledged  this  public  demand  by  putting  orations 
into  the  mouths  of  their  principal  characters;  and  many  of 
these  invented  speeches,  in  the  works  of  Thucydides,  are  so 
admirable  in  form  that  they  have  been  widely  studied  and 
imitated  by  modern  orators. 

Yet  this  art  did  not,  like  poetic  and  dramatic  literature, 


180 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


reach  its  culmination  in  the  days  of  Athenian  supremacy. 
Poetry,  art  and  the  drama  alike  declined  in  Athens  after 
the  Peloponne'sian  war,  the  first  never  regaining  its  vital¬ 
ity,  the  last  having  a  partial  recuperation  in  the  works  of 
Menander,  while,  a  generation  later,  art  gained  new  life  in 
the  labors  of  Praxit'eles  and  his  followers.  Yet  at  this 
period  of  decline  prose  literature  broke  from  its  former 
fetters,  and  began  a  career  which  led  to  its  fairest  develop¬ 
ment.  The  principal  workers  in  this  new  growth  were  the 
orators;  Lysias  and  Isocrates,  by  the  happy  alterations 
which  they  made  in  the  artificial  form  of  the  old  prose, 
giving  a  fresh  and  attractive  life  to  this  form  of  literature; 
while  they  were  followed  by  a  host  of  workers  in  the  same 
field,  the  most  noted  names  among  whom  are  those  of  Isaeus, 
Demosthenes  and  iEschines. 

LYS'IAS. 

BORN  458  B  C. 

This  celebrated  orator  is  the  first  of  whom  there  are  any 
extended  works  still  in  existence.  Of  his  numerous  prede¬ 
cessors  in  the  same  art  we  know  only  the  names,  with  some 
scant  memorials  of  their  works;  Lysias  being,  as  we  have 
said,  the  earliest,  any  of  whose  orations  have  come  down  to 
us  intact,  having  withstood  the  long  wear  of  time. 

He  was  born  at  Athens;  his  father,  of  a  distinguished 
Syracusan  family,  having  been  invited  to  that  city  by  Peri¬ 
cles.  At  fifteen  years  of  age,  however,  he  went,  with  his 
elder  brother,  to  Thurium,  in  Italy,  where  a  flourishing 
Grecian  colony  had  been  formed.  There  he  studied  rhet¬ 
oric  under  noted  teachers.  But  after  the  fatal  disaster  in 
Sicily,  which  so  crippled  the  power  and  influence  of  Athens, 
the  Thurians  expelled  this  colony,  despite  the  ardent  wel¬ 
come  which  they  had  previously  given  it. 

Lysias  returned  to  Athens,  then  under  the  rule  of  the 


LYSIAS. 


181 


thirty  tyrants.  But  the  democratic  principles  advocated 
by  him  and  his  brother  led  to  the  execution  of  the  latter  by 
these  tyrannical  rulers,  while  the  former  only  escaped  a 
similar  fate  by  a  flight  to  Megara.  After  the  expulsion  of 
the  tyrants  he  again  sought  his  native  city,  of  which  he 
was  now  first  made  a  citizen,  having  before  been  regarded 
as  an  alien  inhabitant.  He  died  at  the  age  of  eighty,  his 
later  years  being  occupied  in  composing  orations  for  others, 
and  in  teaching  rhetoric. 

The  great  merit  of  the  style  of  Lysias  is  its  purity.  In 
this  it  is  unsurpassed  by  other  writers,  and  equaled  by  none 
except  Isocrates.  He  employs  only  the  simplest  language, 
admitting  no  ambitious  ornaments,  yet  he  has  the  happy  art 
of  giving  to  every  subject  treated  an  air  of  dignity  and  im¬ 
portance.  He  possesses  also  a  ready  skill  of  adaptation, 
which  enables  him  to  make  his  orations  suitable  to  all  per¬ 
sons  and  occasions;  while  his  arguments  display  a  fine 
inventive  judgment,  and  a  bold,  confident  tone,  which  must 
have  given  him  a  powerful  influence  over  his  auditors.  In 
reasoning,  he  is  ever  clear,  and  in  narrative  is  natural  and 
lively,  with  often  a  wonderful  air  of  reality.  His  subjects 
are  not  expanded,  but  are  brief,  clear,  and  elegant  in  treat¬ 
ment,  making  each  oration  a  finished  work  of  art.  He  is 
deficient,  however,  in  the  power  of  exciting  passion  in  his 
audience;  elegance  and  persuasion,  rather  than  vigor  of 
declamation,  being  his  forte. 

In  his  earlier  efforts  he  was  affected  by  the  artificial 
manner  of  the  previous  schools  of  oratory,  and  seems  to 
have  first  broken  from  this  stilted  mode  in  his  oration 
against  Eratosthenes.  This  person,  one  of  the  thirty  ty¬ 
rants,  had  come  into  court  asking  amnesty.  During  his 
trial,  Lysias,  indignant  at  the  murder  of  his  brother,  ap¬ 
peared  in  court  as  the  accuser  of  the  murderer,  and  in  a 
burst  of  simple  but  vigorous  eloquence,  that  must  have 
astonished  and  convinced  his  hearers,  he  established  a  new 


182 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


style  of  oratory,  to  which  he  always  afterward  adhered, 
and  which  formed  the  groundwork  for  the  orations  of  his 
successors. 

There  are  attributed  to  him  in  all  two  hundred  and 
thirty  orations,  of  which  thirty-five  are  extant.  Of  these 
some  are  considered  spurious,  and  the  greater  part  of  them 
are  devoted  to  private  subjects.  His  one  existing  public 
speech  is  that  against  Eratosthenes,  from  which  we  quote. 

eratos'tfienes  arraigned. 

It  is  an  easy  matter,  O  Athenians,  to  begin  this  accusation.  But 
to  end  it  without  doing  injustice  to  the  cause  will  be  attended  with 
no  small  difficulty.  For  the  crimes  of  Eratosthenes  are  not  only 
too  atrocious  to  describe,  but  too  many  to  enumerate.  No  exagge¬ 
ration  can  exceed,  and  within  the  time  assigned  for  this  discourse 
it  is  impossible  to  fully  represent  them.  This  trial,  too,  is  attended 
with  another  singularity.  In  other  causes  it  is  usual  to  ask 
the  accusers:  “What  is  your  resentment  against  the  defendants?” 
But  here  you  must  ask  the  defendant  :  “  What  wras  your  resentment 
against  your  country?  What  malice  did  you  bear  your  lellow- 
citizens?  Why  did  you  rage  with  unbridled  fury  against  the  state 
itself?  ” 

The  time  has  now'  indeed  come,  Athenians,  when,  insensible  to 
pity  and  tenderness,  you  must  be  armed  with  just  severity  against 
Eratosthenes  and  his  associates.  What  avails  it  to  have  conquered 
them  in  the  field,  if  you  be  overcome  by  them  in  your  councils? 
Do  not  show  them  more  favor  for  what  they  boast  they  will  perform, 
than  resentment  for  wiiat  they  have  already  committed.  Nor,  after 
having  been  at  so  much  pains  to  become  masters  of  their  persons, 
allowr  them  to  escape  without  suffering  that  punishment  which  you 
once  sought  to  inflict,  but  prove  yourselves  w'orthy  of  that  good  for¬ 
tune  wiiiclr  has  given  you  powrer  over  your  enemies. 

The  contest  is  very  unequal  between  Eratosthenes  and  you. 
Formerly  he  wras  both  judge  and  accuser;  but  wre,  even  while  we 
accuse,  must  at  the  same  time  make  our  defense.  Those  who  were 
innocent  he  put  to  death  without  trial.  To  them  who  were  guilty 
we  allow  the  benefit  of  law,  even  though  no  adequate  punishment 
can  ever  be  inflicted.  For  should  we  sacrifice  them  and  their  chil¬ 
dren,  w'ould  this  compensate  for  the  murder  of  your  fathers,  your 


LYSIAS. 


183 


sons,  and  your  brothers  ?  Should  we  deprive  them  of  their  property, 
could  this  indemnify  the  individuals  whom  they  have  beggared,  or 
the  state  which  they  have  plundered?  Though  they  cannot  sutler  a 
punishment  adequate  to  their  demerit,  they  ought  not,  surely,  on 
this  account  to  escape.  Yet  how  matchless  is  the  effrontery  of 
Eratos'thenes,  who,  being  now  judged  by  the  very  persons  whom  he 
formerly  injured,  still  ventures  to  make  his  defense  before  the  wit¬ 
nesses  of  his  crimes?  What  can  show  more  evidently  the  contempt 
in  which  he  holds  you,  or  the  confidence  which  he  reposes  in 
others  ? 

Let  me  now  conclude  with  laying  before  you  the  miseries  to 
which  you  were  reduced,  that  you  may  see  the  necessity  of  taking 
punishment  on  the  authors  of  them.  And  first,  you  who  remained 
in  the  city,  consider  the  severity  of  their  government.  You  were 
reduced  to  such  a  situation  as  to  be  forced  to  carry  on  a  war  in 
which,  if  you  were  conquered,  you  partook  indeed  of  the  same  lib¬ 
erty  with  the  conquerors ;  but  if  you  proved  victorious,  you  remained 
under  the  slavery  of  your  magistrates.  As  to  you  of  the  Pirae'us, 
you  will  remember  that  though  you  never  lost  your  arms  in  the 
battles  which  you  fought,  yet  you  suffered  by  these  men  what  your 
foreign  enemies  could  never  accomplish,  and  at  home,  in  times  of 
peace,  were  disarmed  by  your  fellow  citizens.  By  them  you  were 
banished  from  the  country  left  you  by  your  fathers.  Their  rage, 
knowing  no  abatement,  pursued  you  abroad,  and  drove  you  from 
one  territory  to  another.  Recall  the  cruel  indignities  which  you 
suffered;  how  you  were  dragged  from  the  tribunal  and  the  altars; 
how  no  place,  however  sacred,  could  shelter  you  against  their  vio¬ 
lence!  While  others,  torn  from  their  wives,  their  children,  their 
parents,  after  putting  an  end  to  their  miserable  lives,  were  deprived 
of  funeral  rites.  For  these  tyrants  imagined  their  government  to  be 
so  firmly  established  that  even  the  vengeance  of  the  Gods  was  unable 
to  shake  it. 

But  it  is  impossible  for  one  man,  or  in  the  course  of  one  trial,  to 
enumerate  the  means  which  were  employed  to  undermine  the  power 
of  this  state,  the  arsenals  which  were  demolished,  the  temples  sold 
or  profaned,  the  citizens  banished  or  murdered,  and  whose  dead 
bodies  were  impiously  left  uninterred.  Those  citizens  now  watch 
your  decree,  uncertain  whether  you  will  prove  accomplices  to  their 
death,  or  avengers  of  their  murder.  I  shall  desist  from  any  further 
accusations.  You  have  heard,  you  have  seen,  you  have  experienced. 
Decide  then ! 


184 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


ISOC'RATES. 

BORN  436  B.C. 

This  famous  rhetorician  was  a  native  of  Athens.  He 
received  a  liberal  education  in  the  best  schools  of  oratory, 
and  developed  an  early  talent,  for  the  art.  He  was  re¬ 
strained,  however,  by  a  weak  voice,  and  by  natural  timidity, 
from  attempting  to  become  a  public  speaker,  and  therefore 
opened  a  school  of  rhetoric,  which  soon  became  celebrated, 
and  was  the  favorite  resort  of  the  studious  from  all  quar¬ 
ters.  Numerous  eminent  historians,  politicians  and  lawyers 
received  instruction  in  his  school,  he  having  at  one  time  one 
hundred  pupils,  although  his  price  for  tuition  was  very  high 
for  that  period,  being  one  thousand  drachma?  (about  two  hun¬ 
dred  dollars  of  our  money).  Demosthenes  is  said  to  have 
offered  him  a  fifth  part  of  this  price  for  a  fifth  of  his 
science  ;  but  Isocrates  replied  that  his  art,  like  a  good 
fish,  must  be  sold  entire.  In  his  teachings  he  always 
selected  practical  subjects,  and  chiefly  the  political  events 
of  the  day,  as  his  illustrations,  for  which  reason  public 
speakers  and  historians  became  his  principal  auditors.  He 
wrote  many  orations  for  others,  and  also  for  public  de¬ 
livery  on  important  political  occasions.  These,  being  spread 
throughout  Greece,  added  largely  to  his  reputation. 

Isocrates  died  at  ninety-eight  years  of  age,  from  volun¬ 
tary  starvation,  occasioned  by  his  grief  at  the  result  of  the 
fatal  battle  of  Chaerone'a,  in  which  the  power  of  Athens 
was  overthrown  by  Philip  of  Macedonia. 

There  are  attributed  to  him  sixty  orations,  of  which 
twenty-one  are  extant.  These  works  may  be  classified  as 
didactic,  suasive,  laudatory  and  forensic.  They  were  elabo¬ 
rated  with  such  care  that  he  is  said  to  have  been  two  years 
in  composing  and  polishing  one  oration.  His  style  resem¬ 
bles  that  of  Lysias  in  its  purity  and  correctness,  and  in 
its  careful  selection  of  words,  though  it  is  not  so  round  and  full 


IOSCRATES. 


185 


in  its  periods,  nor  so  simple  and  compact,  while  its  sweet¬ 
ness  is  artificial  where  that  of  Lysias  is  purely  natural. 
His  orations,  however,  have  a  power  in  their  full  stream 
of  harmonious  diction  which  is  found  in  no  former  work 
of  rhetoric,  while  his  rhythmical  flow  of  language  replaces 
the  vehement  oratory  of  later  writers. 

He  was  always  great  in  his  management  of  great  points, 
and  in  the  invention,  arrangement  and  application  of  his 
arguments;  as  also  in  the  philosophical  adjustment  of  the 
parts  of  his  subjects,  and  the  moral  beauty  and  political 
truth  of  his  sentiments. 

The  ancient  estimate  of  his  powers  was  shown  by  the 
statue  of  a  syren  erected  on  his  tomb,  in  indication  of  his 
sweetness. 

FLATTERY  MORE  POWERFUL  THAN  TRUTH. 

Those  who  come  hither  arc  used  to  say  that  those  things  which 
they  are  going  to  speak  of  are  of  the  noblest  nature,  and  worthy 
the  city’s  utmost,  attention;  but  if  there  ever  was  a  time  when  this 
might  be  said  of  any  affairs,  methinks  that  I  shall  now  handle 
deserves  such  an  exordium.  We  are  assembled  to  deliberate  about 
peace  and  war,  which  are  of  the  highest  importance  in  human  life; 
and  those  who  consult  maturely  are  more  successful  than  others. 
The  importance,  therefore,  of  our  present  subject  is  of  this  high 
nature. 

Now  I  have  frequently  observed  that  you  make  a  great  differ¬ 
ence  between  orators,  and  are  attentive  to  some  but  cannot  suffer 
the  voice  of  others.  This  in  reality  is  no  just  wonder,  for  in  former 
times  you  used  to  reject  all  such  as  did  not  flatter  your  inclinations; 
which,  I  think,  deserves  an  impartial  blame;  for  though  you  know 
many  private  houses  have  been  entirely  ruined  by  flatteries,  and 
detest  such  persons  as  in  their  private  affairs  conduct  themselves 
in  this  manner;  yet  you  are  not  disposed  yourselves  in  the  same 
manner  in  regard  of  the  public  amendment,  but  finding  fault  with 
the  censor,  and  taking  pleasure  in  flatteries,  you  seem  to  put  more 
confidence  in  such  than  in  other  citizens;  and  you  yourselves  have 
been  a  cause  that  the  orators  study  and  meditate  not  so  much  what 
will  be  beneficial  to  the  state,  as  what  will  please  your  hope  and 
expectation,  for  which  a  crowd  of  them  is  now  flocked  together; 


186 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


as  it  is  evident  to  all  that  you  take  more  pleasure  in  those  who 
exhort  you  to  war  than  such  as  give  you  more  peaceable  counsels. 

You  have  met  to  choose,  as  it  becomes  you,  the  wisest  measures; 
and  though  you  do  know  wliat  is  best  to  be  done,  yet  you  will  hear 
none  but  such  as  flatter  you.  But  if  you  truly  had  the  State’s  good 
at  heart,  you  ought  rather  to  be  attentive  to  those  who  oppose  your 
sentiments,  than  such  as  fall  in  with  your  humors  and  weaknesses; 
for  you  cannot  be  ignorant  that  those  who  practice  such  artifices 
are  the  most  likely  to  deceive  you,  since  artful  flattery  easily  closes 
the  eye  to  truth  and  sincerity.  But  you  can  never  suffer  such  preju¬ 
dice  from  those  who  speak  the  plain,  naked  truth,  for  such  can¬ 
not  persuade  you  but  by  the  clear  demonstrations  of  utility. 

— Dinsdale. 

FROM  THE  ORATION  TO  DEMONl'cUS. 

In  the  first  place  show  your  gratitude  to  Heaven,  not  only  by 
sacrifices,  but  by  a  steady  veracity,  and  sacred  observance  of  all 
leagues  and  oaths.  The  first  shows  indeed  splendor  and  gratitude, 
but  the  latter  only  a  truly  noble,  God-like  mind.  Be  such  toward 
your  parents  as  you  would  hope  your  children  should  be  toward 
you.  Use  exercise  rather  for  health,  than  strength  or  beauty.  You 
will  best  attain  these  if  you  leave  it  oft'  before  nature  is  fatigued. 

Be  not  austere  and  gloomy,  but  serene  and  grave.  By  the  first 
behavior  you  would  be  thought  proud ;  but  by  the  latter  will  be 
esteemed  a  man  of  worth  and  credit.  Never  imagine  you  can  con¬ 
ceal  a  bad  action;  for  though  you  hide  it  from  others,  your  own 
conscience  will  condemn  you.  Be  good,  and  have  your  own  appro¬ 
bation.  Be  persuaded  that  every  base  action  will  at  last  take  air. 

It  is  the  duty  of  every  man  to  improve  his  knowledge,  will,  and 
understanding.  It  is  as  great  a  shame  to  hear  rational,  instructive 
discourse,  and  not  be  attentive  to  it,  as  to  reject  with  scorn  a  val¬ 
uable  gift.  Think  philosophy  a  greater  treasure  than  immense 
sums  of  gold;  for  gold  is  apt  to  take  wings  and  fly  away;  but 
philosophy  and  virtue  are  inalienable  possessions.  Wisdom  is  the 
only  immortal  inheritance. — Dinsclale. 

is^rus. 

FLOURISHED  ABOUT  360  B.C. 

Of  the  private  life  of  Isseus  very  little  is  known.  He 
was  probably  a  pupil  of  one  or  both  of  the  preceding  ora¬ 
tors,  and  was  the  instructor  of  Demosthenes  in  oratory,  a 


ISJUUS. 


187 


fact  which  is  in  itself  a  reputation.  His  extant  speeches 
all  relate  to  private  subjects,  being  prepared  for  delivery 
in  civil  suits  in  the  law  courts  of  Athens.  They  are  written 
in  the  first  person,  the  client  himself  speaking,  or  being 
personated  by  his  counsel.  These  speeches  display  much 
insight  into  the  ancient  laws,  and  vield  valuable  informa- 
tion  in  regard  to  the  ordinances  respecting  women,  which 
were  as  onerous  as  were  the  social  customs  in  regard  to  the 

fair  sex.  There  are  in  all  fifty  orations  attributed  to  him, 

7 

of  which  eleven  are  extant. 

In  style  he  copies  the  manner  of  Lysias,  the  imitation 
being  usually  very  close.  There  is  the  same  pure,  per¬ 
spicuous  and  concise  diction.  The  figurative  language, 
however,  is  more  artificially  expressed,  and  has  less  of  the 
earnest  force  of  nature.  But  if  he  lacks  the  eloquence  of 
Lysias,  he  surpasses  him  in  majesty,  the  use  of  interrogative 
sentences  giving  his  speeches  an  animation  and  energy 
that  assimilate  them  to  those  of  Demosthenes.  We  can, 
indeed,  trace  indications  of  the  sublimity  of  the  latter  in 
Isseus,  and  in  the  oratorical  manner  of  this  tutor  we  have 
the  probable  groundwork  of  the  vigor  and  vehemence  with 
which  his  illustrious  pupil  has  taken  captive  the  ears  of  the 
ages.  The  private  character  of  these  orations  renders  them 
less  interesting  than  those  of  his  competitors.  We  give 
one  or  two  illustrations. 

FROM  THE  DEFENSE  OF  GRANDSONS  OF  Cl' RON  AGAINST  HIS 

NEPHEW. 

It  is  impossible,  Judges,  to  suppress  our  just  indignation,  when 
men  are  not  only  bold  enough  to  claim  the  property  of  others,  but, 
even  hope  by  their  sophisms  to  refine  away  and  find  release  of  law, 
as  our  adversaries  are  now  attempting  to  do.  For  although  my 
grandfather,  Ciron,  died  not  childless,  but  left  me  and  my  brother, 
the  sons  of  his  legitimate  daughter,  yet  these  men  have  both  claimed 
his  estate  as  his  next  of  kin,  and  insult  us  by  asserting  that  we  are 
not  his  grandsons,  and  that  he  never  had  a  daughter  in  his  life. 


188 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


To  this  audacity  have  they  beeu  incited  by  their  sordid  love  of  gain, 
and  lured  by  the  value  of  Giron’s  estate,  which  they  violently  seized, 
and  now  unjustly  possess ;  being  absurd  enough  to  allege  that  he 
died  in  indigence;  yet  contending,  at  the  same  time,  that  they  have 
the  right  to  his  fortune. 

These  being  their  machinations  it  is  necessary  for  you  to  be  in¬ 
formed  of  llie  whole  transaction,  that  when  you  are  fully  apprised 
of  every  circumstance,  you  may  decide  the  cause  from  your  perfect 
knowledge  of  it.  And  if  you  have  ever  attended  to  any  cause,  hear 
this,  I  entreat  you,  with  attention;  justice,  indeed,  requires  it;  for 
in  the  many  suits  with  which  Athens  abounds,  no  man  will  be 
found  to  have  invaded  the  possessions  of  another  with  more  impu¬ 
dence,  and  a  greater  contempt  of  decency,  than  these  corrupters. 

FROM  THE  DEFENSE  OF  A  GUARDIAN  AGAINST  IIIS  WARD. 

I  should  have  been  happy,  Judges,  not  only  if  I  had  escaped  the 
scandalous  imputations  of  laying  snares  for  the  property  of  others, 
and  instituting  suits  with  that  view,  but  also  if  m}r  nephew,  instead 
of  grasping  at  my  estate,  would  have  taken  due  care  of  his  own 
paternal  fortunes,  which  we  justly  surrendered  to  him;  for  then  he 
would  have  been  esteemed  by  all  as  a  worthier  man,  while  by  pre¬ 
serving  and  increasing  his  patrimony  lie  would  have  proved  him¬ 
self  a  worthy  citizen.  But  since  he  has  aliened  part  of  it,  and 
consumed  the  rest  in  a  manner  tlnV  gives  me  pain;  since,  relying 
on  the  number  of  his  associates,  and  the  preconcerted  quirks  of  his 
advocates,  he  has  invaded  my  possessions;  I  cannot  but  consider  it 
a  misfortune  that  a  kinsman  of  mine  should  act  so  disgracefully, 
and  I  must  enter  upon  my  defense  with  all  the  activity  in  my  power 
against  his  direct  accusation,  and  the  impertinent  calumnies  which 
accompany  it. — Sir  William  Jones. 

DEMOS'  THENES. 

BORN  ABOUT  385  B.C. 

Demosthenes,  the  most  eloquent  of  the  ancients,  or  we 
may  more  widely  say,  the  greatest  orator  the  world  has  yet 
produced,  was  a  native  of  Athens,  born  in  382  or  385  b.c., 
according  to  different  authorities.  He  was  a  contemporary 
of  Aristotle,  dying  in  the  same  year  and  possibly  of  the 
same  age;  and,  in  his  special  line,  was  as  eminent  as  was 
the  great  philosopher  in  his. 


DEMOSTHENES. 


189 


The  father  of  Demosthenes  was  a  wealthy  cutler  and 
cabinet-maker.  He  died  when  his  son  was  but  seven  years 
of  age,  leaving  the  child  to  the  care  of  guardians,  who  ful¬ 
filled  their  trust  by  appropriating  his  inheritance  to  them¬ 
selves.  It  may  be  that  this  peculation  of  his  guardians, 
and  his  consequent  fear  of  poverty,  stimulated  him  to  the 
intense  study  which  was  the  secret  of  his  great  future  emi¬ 
nence.  As  soon  as  he  became  of  age,  however,  he  prosecuted 
these  unjust  stewards,  and  obtained  a  portion  of  his  estate. 

It  is  possible  also  that  his  success  in  this,  and  some  other 
civil  suits,  incited  him  to  the  study  of  oratory,  for  which  he 
chose  Isseus  as  his  tutor,  either  to  save  expense,  or  because 
he  preferred  his  style  to  that  of  Isocrates. 

He  was  so  poorly  fitted  by  nature  for  this  profession  that 
his  first  attempt  at  public  speaking  proved  an  utter  failure. 
He  was  of  a  feeble  frame,  a  weak  and  indistinct  voice,  shy 
and  awkward  in  manner,  and  ungraceful  in  gesture.  Nor 
was  he  ever  ready  as  an  extemporaneous  speaker,  always 
requiring  preparation,  even  in  his  best  days.  But  if  he 
had  these  disqualifications  he  had  the  qualifications  of  en¬ 
ergy,  ambition,  and  endless  perseverance.  With  unparal¬ 
leled  industry  he  set  himself  to  overcome  the  disadvantages 
of  nature.  To  strengthen  his  lungs  he  would  forcibly  de¬ 
claim  while  climbing  steep  hills,  or  raise  his  voice  in  rivalry 
with  the  roar  of  the  sea  in  stormy  weather.  He  is  said  to 
have  accustomed  himself  to  speak  with  pebbles  in  his 
mouth  to  overcome  a  natural  defect  in  his  delivery;  and  to 
have  practiced  the  art  of  gesture,  so  essential  in  Greek  ora¬ 
tory,  before  a  mirror.  By  constant  study  and  memorizing 
he  obtained  fluency  of  speech,  and  also  by  a  persistent  com¬ 
position  of  orations. 

These  energetic  and  long-continued  studies  so  enhanced 
the  natural  powers  of  Demosthenes  that  his  enemies  solaced 
themselves  for  their  defeats  by  ascribing  all  his  abilities  to 
these  causes,  and  denying  him  any  native  talent. 


190 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


He  entered  public  life  at  a  most  critical  period.  The 
jealousies  and  social  wars  of  the  Grecian  states  had  rendered 
them  miserably  weak  and  divided;  and  they  were  heedless 
of  the  dangerous  intrigues  of  Philip  of  Macedon  until 
Demosthenes  boldly  exposed  him. 

In  a  series  of  the  most  brilliant  orations,  extending  over 
many  years,  he  warned  his  country  against  the  insidious 
policy  of  the  crafty  monarch,  and  called  on  the  Grecian 
states  to  unite  against  their  common  enemy.  But  Mace¬ 
donian  gold  and  diplomacy,  and  Grecian  blindness  and  jeal¬ 
ousy,  proved  too  much  for  even  the  eloquence  of  a  Demos¬ 
thenes  to  overcome,  and,  although  he  continued  to  thunder 
his  unequaled  denunciations  against  Philip,  that  politic 
conqueror  advanced  step  by  step,  until  the  fatal  battle  of 
Chserone'a,  in  338  b.c.,  laid  all  Greece  prostrate  at  his  feet. 

After  the  death  of  Philip,  his  son  Alexander  demanded 
that  Demosthenes  should  be  delivered  up  to  him,  but 
Athens  had  the  boldness  to  reject  this  demand.  Indeed  his 
grateful  fellow-citizens  went  so  far  as  to  decree  him  a 
golden  crown  for  his  services,  on  the  proposition  of  his 
friend,  Ctes'iphon.  This  gave  the  occasion  for  his  final  and 
greatest  effort  in  oratory.  For  Ctesiphon  was  attacked  in 
a  vigorous  oration  by  iEschines,  in  which  throughout  he 
defamed  and  misrepresented  Demosthenes.  The  latter  fol¬ 
lowed  in  an  oration  “  For  the  Crown,”  which  is  acknowl¬ 
edged  to  be  the  most  perfect  master-piece  of  oratory  ever 
produced,  and  which  so  overwhelmed  his  enemy,  iEschines, 
that  he  left  Athens  in  disgust. 

In  324  b.c.  Demosthenes  was  accused  of  aiding  in  a  re¬ 
volt  against  the  Macedonians,  and  was  thrown  into  prison. 
He  escaped,  however,  and  fled  into  exile.  In  the  following 
year  Alexander  died,  and,  with  a  new  gleam  of  hope,  the 
Athenians  placed  Demosthenes  again  at  the  head  of  affairs. 
But  the  Macedonian  power  speedily  again  prevailed,  and 
Demosthenes,  demanded  by  the  conquerors,  sought  an  asy- 


DEMOSTHENES. 


191 


lum  in  the  temple  of  Neptune,  in  the  island  of  Calaure'a. 
Pursued  even  here  by  his  enemies,  he  died,  as  is  generally 
believed,  of  poison  administered  by  his  own  hand.  His 
death  took  place  in  322  b.c. 

Too  high  praise  cannot  be  given  to  the  personal  charac¬ 
ter  of  Demosthenes.  His  brave  defiance  of  the  enemies  of 
Greece,  the  stainless  purity  of  his  life,  his  splendid  patriot¬ 
ism,  and  his  noble  statesmanship,  entitle  him  to  rank  with 
the  most  illustrious  of  mankind.  As  an  orator  he  is 
simply  without  a  peer.  He  took  the  best  from  all  previous 
styles  and  combined  them  into  one  harmonious  whole.  As 
bold  and  more  simple  than  Thucydides,  as  clear  in  narra¬ 
tive,  and  elegant  and  pure  in  diction  as  Lysias,  he  added  to 
them  an  unequaled  earnestness,  power,  rapidity  and  pas¬ 
sion  that  carried  all  hearers  away  as  on  a  flood  of  elo¬ 
quence. 

His  orations  are  plain  and  unornamented  in  language, 
and  business-like  in  their  reasoning,  while  they  have  char¬ 
acteristics  to  please  every  grade  of  hearers,  some  being 
taken  captive  by  their  force  and  vigor,  others  by  their 
grace  and  harmonious  cadence  of  sentences,  others  again 
by  their  emotional  earnestness. 

Of  his  orations  sixty-one  have  been  preserved,  though 
some  of  these  are  of  doubtful  authenticity.  Twelve  of 
his  extant  speeches  are  devoted  to  the  contest  between 
Philip  and  the  Greeks,  and  one  is  the  celebrated  oration, 
“  For  the  Crown.” 

Lord  Brougham  says  of  him,  after  speaking  of  his  ex¬ 
cessive  care  in  preparing,  polishing,  and  perfecting  his  ora¬ 
tions  : 

There  is  not  any  long  or  close  train  of  reasoning  in  Demos¬ 
thenes;  still  less  any  profound  observations  or  ingenious  allusions; 
but  a  constant  succession  of  remarks  bearing  immediately  on  the 
matter  in  hand,  perfectly  plain,  and  as  readily  admitted  as  easily 
understood.  These  are  intermingled  with  most  striking  appeals; 


192 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


some  to  feelings  which  all  were  conscious  of  and  deeply  agitated 
by,  though  ashamed  to  own ;  some  to  sentiments  which  every  man 
was  panting  to  utter,  and  delighted  to  hear  thundered  forth;  bursts 
of  oratory,  therefore,  which  either  overwhelmed  or  delighted  the 
audience.  Such  hits,  if  we  may  use  a  homely  phrase,  are  the  prin¬ 
cipal  glory  of  the  great  combatant.  It  is  by  these  that  he  carries 
all  before  him,  and  to  these  that  he  sacrifices  all  the  paltry  graces 
which  are  the  delight  of  the  Asian  and  Italian  schools. 

FROM  THE  ORATION  FOR  THE  CROWN. 

There  is  indeed,  there  is  a  silence  which  is  sincere  and  service¬ 
able  to  the  state,  such  as  you,  the  body  of  the  citizens,  innocently 
maintain.  Such,  however,  is  not  the  silence  which  he  maintains; 
far  from  it;  but,  abandoning  the  public  service  when  he  chooses — 
and  he  often  does  so  choose — he  watches  the  moment  when  you  are 
tired  of  a  constant  speaker;  or  some  reverse  of  fortune  happens,  or 
some  other  untoward  event  occurs — and  many  such  are  incident  to 
humanity — and  then,  on  that  opportunity,  the  orator  suddenly 
springs  up  from  his  silence  like  a  storm,  and,  after  preparatory 
declamation,  and  a  making-up  of  phrases  and  arguments,  he  de¬ 
livers  these  with  precision  and  fluency,  though  producing  no  benefit 
nor  the  certainty  of  any  advantage,  but  ruin  to  the  average  of  citi¬ 
zens,  and  national  disgrace. 

And  yet,  AE  sc  bines,  of  all  this  diligence  and  preparation,  if  it 
proceeded  from  an  upright  heart,  whose  object  was  the  good  of  his 
country,  the  fruits  should  be  noble  and  creditable  and  universally 
beneficial ;  such  as  the  alliances  of  cities,  the  raising  of  subsidies, 
the  establishment  of  trade,  the  passing  of  salutary  laws,  and  oppo¬ 
sition  to  our  declared  enemies.  For  in  past  years  all  these  were  in 
request,  and  the  time  gone  by  offered  many  openings  to  an  honor¬ 
able  man,  in  which  you  will  be  found  to  have  been  neither  first,  nor 
second,  nor  third,  nor  fourth,  nor  fifth,  nor  sixth,  nor  anywhere: 
never,  of  course,  where  your  country  would  have  been  advanced. 

What  alliance,  by  your  agency,  has  been  secured  for  the  city? 
what  service  by  which  the  city  became  more  respected?  what 
domestic,  or  Grecian,  or  foreign  relation,  directed  by  you,  has  been 
successfully  conducted?  what  fleets?  what  armories?  what  arse¬ 
nals?  what  construction  of  walls?  what  cavalry?  Where  have  you 
been  useful  in  anything?  What  public  or  national  pecuniary 
relief  has  been  afforded  by  you,  either  to  rich  or  poor?  None! 
But  then,  sir,  if  there  be  none  of  this,  there  is  at  least  loyalty  and 


DEMOSTHENES. 


193 


zeal?  Where?*  When? — Thou  most  disgraced  of  men! — who  not 
even  when  all  that  ever  spoke  on  the  platform  contributed  for  our 
safety,  and  at  last  Aristonicus  contributed  the  money  collected  for 
his  enfranchisement — who  did  not  even  then  come  forward,  nor 
bestow  anything.  Not,  indeed,  through  want.  How  could  it  be? 
for  you  inherited  more  than  live  talents  from  Philo,  your  relative. 
That  it  was  not  from  want  of  means,  therefore,  that  you  did  not 
contribute,  but  from  an  anxiety  that  no  obstruction  should  be  made 
on  your  part  to  that  party  whom  you  serve  politically,  is  evident 
from  these  facts. 

Wherein  then  have  you  been  active,  or  when  distinguished? 
Whenever  it  was  necessary  to  speak  against  this  people,  there  you 
wrere  most  melodiously  clamorous,  most  retentive  in  memory,  a 
consummate  actor,  a  Tlieokrines  of  the  stage ! — Ouogari. 

FROM  THE  ORATION  ON  THE  STATE  OF  THE  CHERSONE'SUS. 

Yet.  dreadful  as  it  is  to  have  such  men  among  us,  yet  the  most 
dreadful  circumstance  of  all  is  this,  you  assemble  here  with  minds 
so  disposed  that  if  any  one  accuses  Diopi'thes,  or  Cha'rcs,  or  Aris'- 
toplion,  or  any  citizen  whatever,  as  the  cause  of  our  misfortunes, 
you  instantly  break  forth  into  acclamations  and  applause.  But  if  a 
man  stands  forth  and  thus  declares  the  truth:  “This  is  all  trifling, 
Athenians!  It  is  to  Philip  we  owe  our  misfortunes;  he  lias  planted 
us  in  these  difficulties;  for  had  he  observed  his  treaty  our  state 
would  be  in  perfect  tranquillity.”  This  you  cannot  deny,  yet  you 
hear  it  with  grief,  as  if  it  were  the  account  of  some  dreadful  mis¬ 
fortune. 

The  cause  is  this,  (for  when  I  aim  to  urge  the  interest  of  my 
country  let  me  speak  boldly,)  certain  persons  who  have  been  inter¬ 
ested  with  public  affairs  have,  for  a  long  time  past,  rendered  you 
daring  and  terrible  in  council,  but  in  all  a  flairs  of  war  wretched  and 
contemptible.  Hence  it  is  that  if  a  citizen  subject  to  your  own 
power  and  jurisdiction  be  pointed  out  as  the  author  of  your  misfor¬ 
tunes,  you  hear  the  accusation  with  applause ;  but  if  they  are  charged 
upon  a  man  who  must  first  be  conquered  before  he  can  be  punished, 
then  you  are  utterly  disconcerted ;  that  truth  is  too  severe  to  be 
borne. 

Your  ministers,  Athenians,  should  take  a  quite  contrary  course. 
They  should  render  you  gentle  and  humane  in  council,  where  the 
rights  of  citizens  and  allies  come  before  you.  In  military  affairs 
they  should  inspire  you  with  fierceness  and  intrepidity;  for  here 

G 


194 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


you  are  engaged  wit-li  enemies,  with  armed  troops.  But  now,  by 
leading  you  on  gently  to  their  purposes,  by  the  most  abject  compli 
anee  with  your  humors,  they  have  so  formed  and  moulded  you  thal 
in  your  assemblies  you  are  delicate,  and  attend  but  to  flattery  and 
entertainment ;  in  your  affairs  you  find  yourselves  threatened  with 
extremity  of*  danger. 

FROM  THE  SECOND  PHILIPPIC. 

And  now  to  what  purpose  do  I  mention  this?  And  why  do  I 
desire  that  these  men  should  appear?  I  call  the  Gods  to  witness 
that  without  the  least  evasion  I  shall  boldly  declare  the  truth !  Not 
that  by  breaking  out  into  invective  I  may  expose  myself  to  the  like 
treatment,  and  once  more  give  my  old  enemies  the  opportunity  of 
receiving  Philip’s  gold;  nor  yet  that  I  may  indulge  the  impertinent 
vanity  of  haranguing. 

But  I  apprehend  the  time  must  come  when  Philip’s  actions  will 
give  you  more  concern  than  at  present.  His  designs,  I  see,  are 
ripening.  I  wish  my  apprehensions  may  not  prove  just;  but  1  fear 
the  time  is  not  far  off.  And  when  it  will  no  longer  be  in  your 
power  to  disregard  events;  when  neither  mine  nor  any  other  per¬ 
son’s  information,  but  your  own  knowledge,  your  own  senses,  will 
assure  you  of  the  impending  danger;  then  will  your  severest  resent¬ 
ment  break  forth. 

While  our  affairs,  therefore,  remain  not  absolutely  desperate; 
while  it  is  yet  in  our  power  to  debate;  give  me  leave  to  remind  you 
of  one  thing ;  though  none  can  be  ignorant  of  it : — Who  was  the  man 
that  persuaded  you  to  give  up  Pho'cis  and  Thermop'yla?  ?  which, 
once  gained,  he  also  gained  free  access  for  his  troops  to  Attica  and 
to  Peloponnesus,  and  obliged  us  to  turn  our  thoughts  from  the  rest 
of  Greece,  and  from  all  foreign  interests,  to  a  defensive  war  in  these 
very  territories.  This  much  may  be  sufficient  to  recall  past  occa¬ 
sions  to  your  view. 

May  all  the  Gods  forbid  that  the  event  should  confirm  my  sus¬ 
picions!  For  I  by  no  means  desire  that  any  man  should  meet  the 
deserved  punishment  of  his  crimes,  when  the  whole  community  is 
in  danger  of  being  involved  in  his  destruction. — Lelaud. 


J5SCHINES. 


195 


JESS'  CHINES. 

BORN  389  B.C. 

Aeschines,  a  contemporary  and  rival  of  Demosthenes, 
and  second  only  in  ability  to  this  great  orator,  was  a  native 
of  Athens,  and  the  head  of  the  peace  party  to  which  De¬ 
mosthenes  was  so  vigorously  opposed.  Aeschines  was  poor, 
his  father  having  kept  school,  while  the  first  known  oc¬ 
cupation  of  the  future  orator  was  the  acting  of  plays. 

Taking  a  share  in  politics,  however,  he  soon  distin¬ 
guished  himself,  opposing  Demosthenes  with  violence,  and 
becoming  a  member  of  more  than  one  embassy  sent  by  the 
Athenians  to  treat  with  Philip.  Demosthenes  accused  him 
of  receiving  bribes  from  Philip,  and  of  playing  into  the 
hands  of  this  wily  monarch.  This  accusation  and  the  reply 
of  Aeschines  are  among  the  best  specimens  of  Grecian  ora¬ 
tory. 

There  is  no  proof  that  the  charge  of  corruption  was  well 
founded,  as  Aeschines  may  have  been  deceived  by  the  wily 
Macedonian,  but  the  event  proved  the  sagacity  of  Demos¬ 
thenes  and  condemned  the  selfish  policy  of  his  rival. 

When  it  was  proposed  to  reward  Demosthenes  with  a 
golden  crown,  in  recognition  of  his  services  to  his  country, 
Aeschines  vigorously  opposed  it,  and  contested  that  it  was 
illegal.  Being  vanquished  by  the  scathing  reply  of  De¬ 
mosthenes,  he  left  Athens,  and  eventually  established  a 
school  of  oratory  in  Rhodes,  which  enjoyed  a  high  reputa¬ 
tion.  On  one  occasion  he  read  to  his  pupils  his  oration 
against  Ctesiphon,  and  on  some  of  his  auditors  expressing 
surprise  that  such  a  powerful  speech  could  fail  of  success, 
he  replied:  “You  would  cease  to  be  astonished  if  you  had 
heard  Demosthenes.” 

He  died  at  Samos,  314  b.c.  Only  three  of  his  orations 
are  extant,  that  “Against  Ctesiphon  ”  being  included.  They 


196 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


possess  a  sonorous,  vigorous  tone,  with  fine  rhetorical 
power,  and  great  felicity  of  diction;  and  have  much  of  the 
force  and  fire  displayed  by  his  rival,  closely  approximating 
to  those  of  Demosthenes  in  style,  while  in  ability  they  re¬ 
main  unsurpassed  by  any  but  this  greatest  of  orators. 

We  give  a  brief  extract  from  the  oration  against  Ctesi- 
phon. 

FROM  THE  ORATION  AGAINST  CTESIPIION. 

Now  I  neither  envy  the  habits  of  Demosthenes,  nor  blush  for 
my  own ;  nor  would  I  retract  the  speeches  I  have  spoken  among 
you;  nor  had  1  spoken  as  he  lias  would  I  be  content  to  live;  for 
my  silence,  Demosthenes,  has  been  occasioned  by  the  simplicity 
of  my  life.  I  am  satisfied  with  little,  and  covet  not  the  dishonest 
acquisition  of  more;  so  that  I  can  be  silent,  and  speak  advisedly, 
and  not  when  constrained  by  innate  extravagance;  while  you,  I 
should  say,  are  silent  when  your  hand  is  full,  and  clamorous  when 
it  is  empty,  and  speak,  not.  when  you  choose,  nor  what  you  please, 
but  whenever  your  employers  instruct  you;  for  you  are  never 
ashamed  of  exaggerat  ions  which  are  immediately  detected. 

You  censure  me  for  coming  before  the  city  not  continuously, 
but  at  intervals,  and  flatter  yourself  that  you  can  escape  detection 
in  propounding  this  principle,  which  is  not  of  democracy  but  a 
different  form  of  government;  for  under  an  oligarchy  not  he  that 
would,  but  he  that  has  power,  prefers  indictments;  but  under  a 
democracy,  whoever  chooses,  and  whenever  he  thinks  proper.  Be¬ 
sides,  to  appear  occasionally  in  public  is  an  indication  of  a  policy 
suggested  by  opportunity  of  advantage;  but  to  make  no  inter¬ 
mission,  even  of  a  day,  is  the  proof  of  a  traitor  and  a  hireling. 

And  yet,  by  the  Gods  of  Olympus,  of  all  that  I  understand 
Demosthenes  intends  to  say,  I  am  most  indignant  at  what  I  am 
going  to  mention.  He  compares  my  talents,  it  seems,  to  the  Sirens, 
for  their  hearers,  (he  says)  are  not  so  much  enchanted  as  lured  to 
destruction, —  and  hence  the  evil  reputation  of  their  minstrelsy. 
In  like  manner  my  rhetorical  skill  and  abilities  prove  the  ruin  of 
my  hearers.  And  though  I  believe  no  man  whatever  is  justified  in 
any  such  assertion  respecting  me  —  for  it  is  discreditable  for  an 
accuser  not  to  be  able  to  prove  the  truth  of  his  allegations  —  yet 
if  the  assertion  must  be  made,  it  should  not  have  been  by  Demos¬ 
thenes,  but  by  some  military  commander  who  had  rendered  im- 


^ESCHINES. 


197 


portant  services  to  the  state,  and  was  deficient  in  eloquence;  and 
who  therefore  envied  the  talents  of  his  adversaries,  because  he  was 
conscious  of  his  inability  to  proclaim  his  achievements,  while  he 
saw  an  adversary  capable  of  representing  to  his  audience  what  he 
had  never  performed  as  though  they  were  actual  achievements. 

Yet  when  a  man  made  up  altogether  of  words, —  bitter  and  super¬ 
fluously  elaborate  words, —  comes  back  to  the  simplicity  of  facts,  who 
can  tolerate  it?  —  a  man  whose  tongue,  like  that  of  the  flageolet, 
if  you  remove,  the  rest  is  nothing. 

You  call  yourself  fortunate,  and  so  you  are,  deservedly;  and 
will  you  accept  now  a  decree  that  you  have  been  forsaken  by 
fortune  and  saved  by  Demosthenes?  And  —  the  greatest  inconsist¬ 
ency  of  all  —  will  you  in  the  same  court  brand  with  infamy  those 
who  are  convicted  of  bribery,  and  crown  a  man  of  whose  political 
venality  you  are  aware?  You  fine  the  judges  of  the  Dionys'ia  for 
deciding  partially  upon  the  Cy'clian  choruses,  and  when  you  are 
yourselves  sitting  in  judgment,  not  upon  Cy'clian  choruses,  but 
upon  the  laws  and  political  integrity,  can  you  bestow  rewards  not 
according  to  the  laws,  nor  on  worthy  and  deserving  objects,  but 
on  the  successful  intriguer?  A  judge  so  acting  descends  from  the 
tribunal,  after  forfeiting  his  own  power,  and  establishing  that  of 
the  orator.  In  a  democratic  state  the  private  individual  exercises 
sovereign  power  by  his  legislative  influence  and  his  suffrage,  and 
whenever  he  surrenders  these  to  another  he  forfeits  his  own  power. 


THE  LATER  GRECIAN  POETS. 


It  is  a  notable  fact  that  all  the  Grecian  lyrists  of  the 
earlier  school,  with  few  exceptions,  were  born  on  the  coast 
of  Asia  Minor,  or  on  the  islands  of  the  iEgean  sea.  “  These 
enchanting  islands,”  says  Dr.  Gillies,  the  Grecian  historian, 
“  were  the  best  adapted  to  inspire  the  raptures  peculiar  to 
the  ode,  as  well  as  to  excite  that  voluptuous  gayety  charac¬ 
teristic  of  the  Grecian  song.” 

But,  like  birds  of  passage,  they  sought  the  genial  climes 
and  the  warm  suns  of  appreciation,  which  for  centuries 
were  to  be  found  only  in  Athens. 

At  a  later  period  Sicily  became  the  refuge  of  many  of 
these  delicate-winged  singers,  and  we  find  a  brilliant  galaxy 
gathered  at  the  court  of  King  Hiero  of  Syracuse,  where 
there  basked  in  the  sunlight  of  the  royal  favor  such  poets 
as  Simonides,  Pindar  and  iEschylus. 

At  a  still  later  epoch,  after  the  conquests  of  Philip  of 
Macedon  and  Alexander  the  Great,  the  power  and  influence 
of  Athens  vanished.  Though  still  preserving  her  comic 
drama,  she  no  longer  offered  a  congenial  home  to  the 
muses. 

But  at  this  period  Alexandria, —  the  capital  of  the  king¬ 
dom  of  Ptolemy  Soter,  to  whom  fell  one  of  the  great  frag¬ 
ments  of  the  broken  empire  of  Alexander,  —  became  the 
seat  of  literature  and  the  arts.  This  far-seeing  monarch 
invited  men  of  eminence  from  every  part  of  the  Grecian 
dominions  to  his  court,  where  he  treated  them  with  royal 
munificence.  In  this  refined  court  the  poets  basked  in  per¬ 
petual  prosperity,  and  were  placed  by  their  liberal  patron 

198 


THE  LATER  GRECIAN  POETS. 


199 


in  a  position  of  entire  ease  and  independence.  Yet  it  is  not 
in  such  sunny  calm  that  the  fires  of  genius  burst  forth,  and 
we  need  not  seek  in  the  poets  of  the  Alexandrian  school  the 
vivid,  sparkling  powers  of  Pindar  and  his  associates;  but 
rather  a  limpid,  quiet  flow,  whose  beauties  are  of  the  sub¬ 
dued  and  easy  tone. 

One  of  the  first  acts  of  these  Alexandrian  poets  was  to 
form  themselves  into  a  constellation,  which  they  transferred 
to  the  heavens  under  the  name  of  the  Pleiades.  This  poetic 
constellation  comprised  the  following  seven  names:  Lyc'- 
ophron,  Theoc'ritus,  Ara'tus,  Nican'der,  iEan'  tides,  Philis'  - 
cus  and  Home'rus. 

Of  these  poets,  however,  but  one  or  two  still  shine  with 
any  lustre;  the  others  are  vanished  stars.  The  only  poem 
of  Lyc'ophron  which  has  come  down  to  us  is  a  long  epic 
monologue,  called  the  Cassandra  or  Alexandra.  It  is  made 
up  of  mythologic  tales  and  heroic  legends,  and  in  this  point 
of  view  alone  is  of  any  special  importance.  It  has  been 
called  the  “  Dark  Poem,”  on  account  of  the  obscurity  which 
pervades  it. 

Of  the  works  of  Aratas,  an  astronomical  poem,  called 
“  The  Phaenomena,”  was  most  esteemed.  It  contains  little 
more  than  the  names  and  order  of  the  constellations,  with 
some  accurate  observations  upon  nature,  but  is  pure  and 
elevated  in  tone,  and  has  the  distinguished  honor  of  having 
been  translated  by  Cicero,  and  having  been  quoted  by  St. 
Paul.  In  the  oration  of  the  latter  before  the  Athenians,  on 
Mars  Hill,  he  exclaimed:  “  For  in  Him  we  live,  and  move, 
and  have  our  being,  as  certain  of  your  own  poets  have  said; 
for  we  are  also  his  offspring.” 

Aratus  is  the  poet  referred  to. 

But  of  the  poetic  Pleiades  one  star  continues  of  the  first 
magnitude,  shining  with  a  lustre  which  time  has  never 
dimmed.  This  is  the  idyllic  poet  Theocrites,  whose  life  and 
writings  demand  our  fuller  attention. 


200 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


THEOC'RITUS. 

BORN  ABOUT  300  B.C. 

This  second  star  of  the  Alexandrian  constellation  was  a 
Sicilian  by  birth,  a  native  of  Syracuse.  He  remained  in 
his  native  city  until  he  had  attained  great  distinction  as 
a  poet.  But  the  court  of  Hi'ero  the  Second  was  not  cal¬ 
culated  to  foster  the  poetic  spirit,  like  that  of  his  talented 
predecessor,  Hiero  the  First,  who  had  surrounded  himself 
with  the  most  eminent  poets  of  the  age. 

Theocritus,  therefore,  reluctantly  left  his  native  land, 
and  sought  patronage  at  the  court  of  Ptolemy  Philadelphus, 
king  of  Egypt.  Here  he  was  received  with  every  mark  of 
honor  and  distinction,  and  found  himself  in  an  atmosphere 
of  congenial  spirits,  well  calculated  to  foster  his  genius. 
We  know  very  little  in  regard  to  his  further  history,  or 
the  date  of  his  death.  He  is  supposed  to  have  returned  to 
Syracuse,  where,  as  Ovid  intimates,  he  was  strangled  by 
order  of  the  king,  though  for  what  cause  is  not  stated. 

The  poems  of  Theocritus  were  written  in  the  Doric  dia¬ 
lect,  and  were  styled  by  their  author  “  Idyls.”  This  word, 
signifying  “  a  little  picture,”  is  generally  taken  to  designate 
poems  descriptive  of  the  simple  scenes  of  rural  life,  treated 
rather  in  an  epic  than  a  lyric  vein.  Yet  the  thirty  Idyls  of 
Theocritus  are  not  all  pastoral  in  character,  and  Tennyson's 
“  Idyls  of  the  King  ”  might  best  be  classed  among  the  epics. 
The  use  of  the  word,  therefore,  is  not  very  strictly  defined. 

The  bucolic  poetry  of  Theocritus  seems  to  have  had  its 
origin  in  the  rural  festivals  of  the  Dorians.  In  the  feasts 
of  Ar'temis  the  custom  was  for  two  shepherds,  or  two  par¬ 
ties  of  them,  to  contend  together  in  song,  usually  employing 
mythical  stories,  or  the  scenes  of  country  life.  This  grad¬ 
ually  grew  into  an  art,  which  was  practiced  by  a  set  class 
of  performers,  and  which  formed  the  germ  of  the  pastoral 
dialogues  of  Theocritus. 


THEOCRITUS. 


201 


In  this  form  of  poetry  our  author  holds  the  same  rank  as 
Homer  holds  in  the  epic.  Critics  have  deduced  the  rules  of 
the  art  from  his  works,  and  Virgil’s  Eclogues  are  little 
more  than  translations  or  imitations  of  his  Idyls. 

His  poetry  is  throughout  marked  by  the  force  and  vivaci¬ 
ty  of  original  genius.  His  descriptions  of  nature,  and  his 
men  and  women,  are  equally  striking,  and  strongly  indi¬ 
vidualized.  His  humor  is  shown  in  portraitures  of  the 
middle  ranks,  and  in  pictures  of  city  life,  while  he  abounds 
in  strokes  of  character  suitable  to  all  ages  of  the  world. 
Hence  his  enduring  popularity. 

Nor  does  he  confine  himself  to  comic  and  rustic  dialogue, 
but  deals  as  well  with  refined  and  elevated  subjects,  which 
he  treats  with  a  rich  and  delicate  fancy  that  lifts  these  pro¬ 
ductions  into  the  highest  rank  of  poetry. 

The  scene  of  the  Idyls  is  uniformly  laid  in  Sicily,  which 
at  that  time  seems  to  have  abounded  in  the  peculiar  char¬ 
acteristics  required  to  give  interest  to  the  delineation  of 
rustic  or  pastoral  life. 

We  append  some  extracts  showing  the  character  and 
value  of  his  poetic  remains. 

«  J  ’ 

FROM  THE  FIFTEENTH  IDYL. - THE  SYRACUSAN  GOSSIPS. 

Subject  —  Two  Syracusan  women,  who  have  traveled  to  Alexandria,  go  to 
see  the  solemnity  of  Adonis1  festival. 

Gorgo.  Breath  of  my  body !  I  have  scarce  escaped 
Alive  to  you,  “  Praxi'noe;”  through  such  crowds 
Of  people  and  of  chariots!  everywhere 
Clattering  of  shoes,  and  whisk  of  soldiers’  cloaks, 

And  such  a  weary  way;  and  you  are  lodged 
At  such  a  distance ! 

Pi  •axinoe.  Why  that  wise-acre 
Has  found  me  out  a  den,  and  not  a  house, 

At  the  world’s  end,  for  fear  we  should  be  neighbors; 

My  constant  plague. 

Gor.  Mother  of  Venus!  softly! 

The  little  one  is  by;  speak  not  so  freely 


202 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Of  your  good  husband :  Madam,  do  but  look 
How  the  brat  eyes  you ! 

Prax.  That’s  a  good,  brave  boy ! 

Pretty  Zopyr'ion!  I’m  not  speaking,  love, 

Of  your  good  dad. 

Gov.  By  Proserpine,  the  child 
Has  scent  of  it — No:  dad  is  good. 

Prax.  That  person 

Some  time  ago,  (we’ll  speak  of  all  as  happening 
Some  time  ago,)  he  was  to  bring  me  rouge 
And  nitre,  from  a  shop:  when  home  he  came 
With  salt,  forsooth!  an  overgrown,  long  looby! 

Gor.  And,  troth  my  own  good  man  has  these  same  pranks; 
A  very  sieve  for  money :  yesterday, 

He  buys  me,  at  seven  drachmas,  five  old  fleeces; 

Such  riffraff!  refuse  all,  and  good  for  nothing, — 

Praxinoe,  I  own,  that  robe  with  clasps 
Becomes  you  mightily.  What  might  it  cost 
When  in  the  piece  ? 

Prax.  Oh  Gor'go !  do  not  ask  me ! 

More  than  two  pounds  of  silver,  and  the  making 
Was  near  the  death  of  me. 

Gor.  ’Tis  made,  however; 

And  to  your  mind,  at  last. 

Prax.  Why,  yes,  indeed ; 

You  have  well  said;  it  does,  I  think,  become  me. — 

Now  quick,  my  scarf  and  parasol ;  stay,  girl, 

Set  the  folds  tidy. — Child !  I  cannot  take  you ; 

Hobgoblin  is  abroad  ;  the  horses  bite ; 

Cry  as  you  may,  I  will  not  have  you  crippled. 

Let’s  go.  Pray,  Pliry'gia!  mind  the  little  one. 

And  try  divert  him.  Stop — call  in  the  dog; 

Mind,  shut  the  street  door  after  us.  Good  Gods! 

There  is  a  crowd !  When  we  shall  pass,  or  how , 

I’m  quite  at  my  wit’s  ends!  They’re  thick  as  ants. 

Gor.  What  crowds  about  the  gates ! 

Prax.  My  stars!  immense! 

Here,  Gorgo,  give  your  hand  in  mine;  and  you 
Eu'noe,  hold  Eu'tychus  by  hers;  mind,  girl, 

And  stick  close  to  her,  or  you’ll  sure  be  lost 
Let’s  all  push  in  at  once;  mind,  Eu'noe,  stick 


THEOCRITUS. 


203 


Close  to  us;  lack-a-day!  there  goes  my  vail! 

Look,  Gorgo !  torn  in  two !  my  dear  good  man, 

Heavens  bless  you,  do  not  tear  my  scarf  as  well ! 

First  man.  Take  heart,  dear  Madam ;  we’re  in  and  safe  at  last. 
Prax.  May  you  be  safe  and  sound,  the  longest  day 
You  have  to  live. — A  good,  kind  gentleman, 

To  take  such  care  of  us. 

Second  man.  Be  quiet,  hussies ! 

Stop  that  eternal  clack.  You  prate  and  prate, 

Like  two  caged  turtles,  with  that  broad  splay  brogue. 

Got.  My  goodness!  who’s  this  fellow ?  Prate  or  not, 

What  is  it,  sir,  to  you?  You  quite  mistake 
Your  persons,  I  believe.  None  of  your  airs 
To  us.  Belike  you  think  you  may  talk  big 
To  Syracusans ;  but  we’d  have  you  know 
We  are  from  Corinth,  sir;  of  the  same  blood 
As  was  Beller'ophon ;  our  dialect 
Peloponne'sian ;  let  the  Dorians  speak 
The  Doric  brogue;  ’tis  none  of  ours,  believe  me. 

Prax.  Sweet  Proserpine!  Pd  send  the  fellow  packing 
That  dared  crow  over  me;  unless,  indeed, 

My  husband;  you  may  threaten,  sir;  but  I 
Will  not  be  cuffed,  depend  on’t. 

Got.  Hush !  Praxinoe ; 

The  Grecian  woman’s  daughter’s  going  to  sing 

About  Adonis.”  — Elion. 

FROM  THE  EIGHTEENTH  IDYL. - DESCRIPTION  OF  HELEN. 

“Full  three-score  girls,  in  sportive  flight  we  strayed, 

Like  youths  anointing,  where  along  the  glade 
The  bath  of  cool  Euro'tas  limpid  played. 

But  none,  of  all,  with  Helen  might  compare, 

Nor  one  seemed  faultless  of  the  fairest  fair. 

As  morn,  with  vermeil  visage,  looks  from  high, 

When  solemn  night  has  vanished  suddenly; 

When  winter  melts,  and  frees  the  frozen  hours, 

And  Spring’s  green  bough  is  gemmed  with  silvery  flowers; 
So  bloomed  the  virgin  Helen  in  our  eyes, 

With  full  voluptuous  limbs,  and  towering  size; 

In  shape,  in  height,  in  stately  presence  fair; 

Straight  as  a  furrow  gliding  from  the  share; 


204 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


A  cypress  of  the  gardens,  spiring  high, 

A  courser  in  the  cars  of  Thessaly. 

So  rose-complexioned  Helen  charmed  the  sight; 

Our  Sparta’s  grace,  our  glory,  and  delight.”  — Elton. 


CALLIM'ACHUS. 

BORN  ABOUT  295  B.C. 

Callimachus  was  of  a  family  which  had  emigrated  from 
Attica  to  Cyrene,  a  Greek  colony  of  northern  Africa,  where 
the  poet  was  born  about  295  b.c.  Having  completed  his 
studies,  and  conducted  a  school  for  some  time  in  his  native 
land,  he  removed  to  Alexandria.  Here  he  taught  success¬ 
fully  for  years,  having  many  distinguished  pupils,  such  as 
Eratos'thenes,  Hermip'pus,  and  Apollo  nius  Rhodius. 

During  these  years  he  had  sedulously  cultivated  the 
poetic  art,  but  made  no  effort  to  place  himself  before  tlie 
public  in  competition  with  the  many  eminent  court  poets, 
until  the  following  incident  occurred. 

Euer'getes  had  now  succeeded  Philadel'phus  on  the 
Egyptian  throne.  This  opportunity  was  embraced  by  the 
provinces  of  Phceni'cia  and  Palestine  to  throw  off  the  yoke 
of  the  Ptol'emies,  and  the  new  monarch  wished  to  lose  no 
time  in  subduing  them. 

Berenice,  his  queen,  anxious  for  his  success,  vowed  that 
should  the  expedition  prove  successful,  she  would,  on  the 
king’s  return,  dedicate  her  hair  to  Venus.  The  expedition 
proved  a  success,  and  the  dedication  was  accordingly  made. 
In  order  to  give  the  occurrence  a  more  important  aspect, 
the  astronomers  of  the  court  were  directed  to  place  the 
hair  in  the  heavens  as  a  constellation.  Hence  the  origin 
of  the  constellation  Berenice’s  Hair. 

To  add  still  more  to  the  importance  of  the  event,  an 
invitation  was  given  to  poets  to  celebrate  it  in  the  strains 
of  immortal  verse.  Into  this  competition  Callimachus  en- 


CALLIMACHUS. 


205 


tered,  and  achieved  such  a  signal  success  that  Ptolemy  at 
once  invited  him  to  abandon  his  school,  repair  to  -court, 
and  become  Royal  Librarian.  In  this  position  Callimachus 
remained  from  266  b.c.  until  his  death,  about  twenty  years 
afterward. 

This  author  did  not  devote  himself  alone  to  poetry,  but 
was  also  a  distinguished  grammarian  and  critic.  He  was 
one  of  the  most  fertile  writers  of  antiquity,  and  is  said 
to  have  written  nearly  eight  hundred  works.  Probably, 
however,  most  of  these  were  of  no  great  extent,  for  it  was 
one  of  his  own  maxims  that  a  great  book  was  equal  to  a 
great  evil. 

Unfortunately  his  prose  works,  which  would  have  fur¬ 
nished  very  valuable  information  concerning  mythology, 
history  and  literature,  are  all  lost.  A  limited  portion  of 
his  poems,  which  the  ancients  viewed  as  the  least  valuable 
of  his  works,  alone  survive. 

These  poetical  remains  consist  of  Hymns ,  Epigrams  and 
Elegies.  The  hymns  bear  greater  resemblance  to  epic  than 
to  lyric  poetry,  and  are  very  valuable  for  their  curious 
mythological  imformation,  being  loaded,  to  an  unusual  ex¬ 
tent,  with  the  learning  of  the  author. 

The  epigrams  of  Callimachus,  seventy-three  in  number, 
were  highly  esteemed  by  the  ancients,  and  furnish  the  best 
specimens  of  that  kind  of  composition  extant.  Of  his  three 
elegies  only  some  fragments  remain;  but  they  were  greatly 
admired  by  Roman  critics,  and  imitated  by  Roman  authors. 

He  also  wrote  two,  and  probably  more,  epic  poems,  and 
seems,  indeed,  to  have  tried  his  skill  at  every  kind  of  poetry; 
for  Su'idas  credits  him  with  comedies,  tragedies,  iambic  and 
choliambic  poems. 

Of  his  prose  works,  the  one  most  to  be  lamented  was 
a  comprehensive  history  of  Greek  literature,  which  seems 
to  have  been  very  full  and  systematic. 


206 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


We  conclude  with  some  extracts  from  his  “  Hymn  on 
the  Bath  of  Minerva.”  and  a  few  epigrams. 

“  Come,  all  the  virgins  of  the  bath !  come  forth, 

Ye  handmaids  of  Minerva!  for  I  hear 
The  neighing  of  the  sacred  steeds:  e’en  now 
The  goddess  is  at  hand.  Haste,  hasten  forth, 

Maids  of  the  yellow  locks,  Pelasgian  maids!  — 

(I  hear  the  rattling  sound  of  ringing  wheels) — 

Let  not  your  hands  bear  ointments,  nor  the  vase 
Of  alabaster:  Pallas,  take  not  joy 
In  mingled  ointments.  Nor  the  mirror  bring, 

For  still  Minerva’s  brow  is  beautiful. 

Nor  yet,  when  Paris,  on  the  mount  of  Ide, 

Sate  arbiter  of  beauty,  did  she  look 
Upon  the  polished  brass;  nor  on  the  stream 
Of  Sim'ois,  in  transparent  dimples  rolled; 

Nor  Juno  sought  the  mirror  nor  the  stream; 

While  Venus  took  the  polished  brass,  and  gazed, 
Arranging,  o’er  and  o’er,  the  self-same  locks: 

But  Pallas,  nimbly  running  in  her  speed, 

Compassed  a  circuit,  like  the  racing  youths, 

Twin  stars  of  Sparta,  on  Eurotas’  banks, 

Pollux  and  Castor.  Then,  with  practiced  art, 

Her  limbs  anointed  with  the  fragrant  oil 
Of  her  own  olive  yards.  Oh,  virgin !  then 
The  color  of  the  morning  flushed  once  more 
Thy  cheeks;  the  hue  that  blushes  on  the  rose, 

Or  tints  the  peach.  Now,  now  that  manlier  oil 
Bring  hither,  maidens!  such  as  Castor  used 
And  Hercules;  and  bring  a  golden  comb, 

That  she  may  draw  her  lengthening  tresses  down, 

And  smooth  her  glossy  hair.  Come,  Pallas,  forth. 

City -destroyer !  golden-lielmed !  who  lovest 

The  din  of  neighing  steeds,  and  clashing  shields! 

This  day,  ye  water-bearing  damsels,  draw 
From  fountains  only,  and  forbear  the  streams; 

This  day,  ye  handmaids,  dip  your  urns  in  springs 
Of  Physide'a,  or  the  limpid  well 
Of  Anymo'ne;  for  from  mountains  green 
With  pasture  shall  th’  Inich'ian  river  roll 
A  goodly  bath  for  Pallas.” 


— Elton. 


APOLLONIUS  RHODIUS. 


207 


EPIGRAMS. 

“  They  told  me,  Herod  otus,  thou  wert  dead, 

And  then  I  thought,  and  tears  thereon  did  shed, 

How  oft  we  two  talked  down  the  sun ;  but  thou 
Hal  mamas' sean  guest!  art  ashes  now. 

Yet  live  thy  nightingales  of  song;  on  those 
Forgetfulness  her  liana  shall  ne’er  impose.” 

— H.  N-.  Coleridge. 

“Would  that  swift  ships  had  never  been;  for  so 
We  ne’er  had  wept  for  Sop'olis;  but  he 
Dead  on  the  waves  now  drifts;  while  we  must  go 
Past  a  void  tomb,  a  mere  name’s  mockery.” 

— Symoiids. 

“Here  Dicon’s  son,  Acanth'ian  Sa'on  lies 
In  sacred  sleep:  say  not  a  good  man  dies .” 

APOLLO'NIUS  RHO'DIUS. 

BORN  235  B.C. 

The  next  poet  to  whom  our  attention  is  called,  in  the 
somewhat  artificial  school  of  poetry  to  which  the  Grecian 
muse  had  now  descended,  is  Apollonius,  a  native  of  Nau- 
cratis  in  Egypt,  who  flourished  during  the  reigns  of  Ptol¬ 
emy  Euer'getes  and  his  two  successors,  Philop'ator  and 
Epiph'anes. 

He  was  sent  while  young  to  Alexandria,  to  the  school 
of  Callimachus,  where  he  greatly  distinguished  himself,  and 
became  so  inflated  by  the  flattery  he  received  that  he  re¬ 
solved  to  enter  the  poetic  field  in  competition  with  his 
celebrated  master  Callimachus. 

For  this  purpose  he  produced  the  Argonaxi  tica,  an  epic 
poem  in  four  books,  on  the  Argonautic  expedition.  The 
poem,  however,  was  hastily  written,  and,  though  containing 
many  beauties,  was  deficient  in  unity  of  plot  and  thorough 
finish.  It  proved  a  failure.  This  so  mortified  the  vanity 
and  ambition  of  the  author  that  he  at  once  left  Egypt, 


208 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


and  retired  to  the  island  of  Rhodes,  where  he  opened  a 
school  of  rhetoric  and  polite  literature. 

His  reputation  had  preceded  him,  and  he  soon  had  a 
flourishing  school.  He  now  attempted  the  revision  of 
“The  Argonautica.”  After  completing  this  task  he  read 
the  poem  in  a  public  assembly  of  the  Rhodians,  so  de¬ 
lighting  them  that  they  at  once  bestowed  upon  the  author 
the  freedom  of  the  city,  and  gave  him  the  appellation  of 
Rhodius  —  a  title  which  he  ever  afterward  bore. 

The  fame  thus  acquired  reached  his  native  land,  and 
he  was  invited  by  the  king  to  return  and  become  one  of 
the  court  poets.  He  did  not  accept  this  invitation,  how¬ 
ever,  until  after  the  death  of  Callimachus,  whom  Eratos¬ 
thenes  succeeded  as  librarian.  Apollonius  now  repaired 
to  Alexandria,  and  after  the  death  of  Eratosthenes,  which 
soon  occurred,  was  made  Royal  Librarian.  This  important 
post  he  filled  during  the  remainder  of  his  life.  At  his 
death  he  was  buried  in  the  same  tomb  with  Callimachus. 

“  The  Argonautica,”  which  is  still  extant,  gives  a  direct 
and  simple  account  of  the  expedition  of  the  Argonauts. 
The  episodes,  which  are  not  numerous,  are  often  very  beau¬ 
tiful,  and  give  life  and  color  to  the  poem.  The  character 
of  Jason  is  not  strongly  drawn,  but  that  of  Mede'a  is 
beautifully  developed,  and  the  gradual  growth  of  her  love 
for  Jason  is  most  artistically  delineated. 

The  Argonautica  is  strictly  epic  in  its  treatment,  and, 
though  lacking  grandeur  and  sublimity,  it  possesses  ten¬ 
derness,  the  second  characteristic  of  the  epic.  The  lan¬ 
guage  imitates  Homer,  but  it  is  more  concise  and  studied. 
It  is  in  reality  a  work  of  art  and  labor,  and  is  in  strong 
contrast  to  the  free  and  natural  flow  of  the  Homeric  poems. 

We  append  some  few  extracts. 

PASSION  OF  MEDELA. 

“  Now  all  remembered  things 
In  apparition  rose  before  her  eyes; 


APOLLONIUS  EHODIUS. 


209 


Wliat  was  liis  aspect;  what  the  rohe  he  wore; 

What  words  he  uttered;  in  what  posture  placed 
He  on  the  couch  reclined;  and  with  what  air 
He  from  the  porch  passed  forth.  Then  red  the  blush 
Burned  on  her  cheek;  while  in  her  soul  she  thought 
No  other  man  existed  like  to  him. 

His  voice  was  murmuring  in  her  ears,  and  all 
The  charming  words  he  uttered.  Now,  disturbed, 

She  trembled  for  his  life;  lest  the  fierce  bulls, 

Or  lest  HSe'tes  should,  himself,  destroy 

The  man  she  loved;  and  she  bewailed  him  now 

As  if  already  dead;  and  down  her  cheeks, 

In  deep  commiseration,  the  soft  tear 

Flowed  anxiously.  And  thus  in  soul  disturbed 

Mused  the  sad  virgin  in  her  anguished  thoughts.” — Elton. 

JASON  AND  MEDEA. 

“  So  said  the  youth,  with  admiration  high 
Gilding  his  speech;  but  she,  her  eyes  cast  down, 

Smiled  with  enchanting  sweetness;  all  her  soul 
Melted  within  her,  of  his  words  of  praise 
Enamoured.  Then  she  fixed  full  opposite 
Her  eyes  upon  him,  at  a  loss  what  word 
She  first  should  speak,  yet  wishing  in  a  breath 
To  utter  all  her  fond,  impetuous  thoughts. 

And  with  spontaneous  act,  she  took  the  drug 
From  forth  her  fragrant  girdle’s  folds,  and  he 
Received  it  at  her  hands,  elate  with  joy: 

And  she  had  drawn  the  spirit  from  her  breast 
Had  he  but  asked  it;  sighing  out  her  soul 
Into  his  bosom.  So  from  Jason’s  head, 

Waving  with  yellow  locks,  Jove  lightened  forth 
A  lambent  flame,  and  snatched  the  darted  rays 
That  trembled  from  his  eyes.  Her  inmost  soul 
Floating  in  bliss,  she  all  dissolved  away; 

As  dew  on  roses,  in  the  morning’s  beams 
Evaporating  melts.  So  stood  they  both; 

And  bent,  in  bashfulness,  their  eyes  on  earth, 

Then  glanced  them  on  each  other;  while  their  brows 
Smiled  joyous,  in  serenity  of  love.”  — Elton. 


210 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


BI'ON. 

BORN  ABOUT  200  B.C. 

The  Alexandrian  school  of  poetry  had  degenerated  from 
the  originality  of  thought,  and  vigor  and  directness  of  ex¬ 
pression,  of  the  earlier  bards,  into  an  artificial  and  verbose 
style  in  which  the  native  spirit  of  poetry  was  quite  lost. 
Obscurity  and  tediousness  mark  the  works  of  Lycopliron, 
Callimachus,  and  the  numerous  other  writers  of  the  long 
period,  during  which  the  Alexandrian  grammarians  ruled 
the  literary  world. 

But  the  writers  to  whom  our  attention  is  now  called, 
though  of  the  same  school,  were  not  controlled  by  the  same 
spirit.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  full  of  the  true  poetic 
sentiment,  and  are  as  purely  imaginative  as  any  of  the 
poets  of  antiquity.  In  the  style  and  sentiment  of  their 
works,  indeed,  Bion  and  Moschus  seem  more  in  affinity 
with  the  spirit  of  modern  than  of  ancient  poetry,  their 
pathos  and  deep  sensibility  being  an  infrequent  feature 
in  the  works  of  Grecian  poets. 

Bion  was  born  at  Phlossa,  a  small  town  in  the  vicinity 
of  Smyrna,  about  200  b.c.  He  sought,  like  most  of  the 
poets  of  his  day,  the  court  of  the  Alexandrian  monarchs, 
and  dwelt,  for  a  time,  in  the  sunshine  of  the  royal  patron¬ 
age  of  Ptol'emy  Philome'tor,  the  reigning  monarch. 

But  having,  in  some  way,  offended  his  patron,  he  made 
his  way  to  Sicily,  where  he  dwelt  for  many  years.  He 
afterward  visited  Macedonia  and  Thrace,  where  he  is  said 
to  have  been  put  to  death  by  poison,  administered,  as  is 
supposed,  by  royal  order. 

This  opinion  is  derived  from  the  following  lines,  found 
in  the  “  Elegy  on  Bion,”  by  Moschus. 

“What  man  so  hard  could  mix  the  draught  for  thee, 

Or  bid  be  mixed,  nor  feel  thy  melody?” 


BION. 


211 


Bion  is  usually  classed  among  the  bucolic  poets,  his 
poems  being  called  Idyls.  But  this  title  was  not  then 
strictly  confined  to  pastoral  subjects,  embracing  also  ama¬ 
tory  legends  about  the  gods  and  heroes.  In  style  he  is 
refined,  in  sentiment  delicate,  and  in  versification  fluent 
and  elegant.  His  “  Elegy  on  Adonis  ”  is  in  the  purest 
and  most  pathetic  strain,  while  his  apologues  charm  us 
by  their  beauty,  archness,  and  unaffected  simplicity.  We 
give,  in  illustration,  the  following  extracts  from  the  elegy. 

FROM  THE  ELEGY  ON  ADONIS. 

“Ah,  Venus!  ah,  the  Loves  for  tliee  bewail; 

With  that  lost  youth  thy  fading  graces  fail; 

Her  beauty  bloomed,  while  life  was  in  his  eyes; 

Ah,  woe!  with  him  it  bloomed,  with  him  it  dies. 

The  oaks  and  mountains  ‘  Ah,  Adonis !  ’  sigh : 

The  rivers  moan  to  Venus’  agony; 

The  mountain  springs  all  trickle  into  tears; 

The  blush  of  grief  on  every  flower  appears: 

And  Venus  o’er  each  solitary  hill, 

And  through  wide  cities  chants  her  dirges  still. 

Woe,  Venus!  woe!  Adonis  is  no  more: 

Echoes  repeat  the  lonely  mountains  o’er, 

‘Adonis  is  no  more!’  woe,  woe  is  me! 

Who  at  her  grievous  love  dry-eyed  can  be? 

Mute  at  th’  intolerable  wound  she  stood : 

And  saw,  and  knew  the  thigh  dash’d  red  with  blood. 
Groaning  she  stretched  her  arms;  and  ‘stay!’  she  said, 
‘Stay,  poor  Adonis!  lift  thy  languid  head: 

Ah!  let  me  find  that  last,  expiring  breath, 

Mix  lips  with  lips,  and  suck  thy  soul  to  death. 

Wake  but  a  little,  for  a  last,  last  kiss; 

Be  it  the  last,  but  warm  with  life,  as  this. 

That  through  my  lips  I  may  thy  spirit  drain, 

Suck  thy  sweet  breath,  drink  love  through  every  vein: 

This  kiss  shall  serve  me  ever  in  thy  stead, 

Since  thou  thyself,  unhappy  one!  art  fled. 

I  feel  the  woe,  yet  live;  and  fain  would  be 
No  goddess,  thus  in  death  to  follow  thee.’ 


212 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


So  Venus  mourns;  her  loss  the  Loves  deplore; 

Woe,  Venus,  woe!  Adonis  is  no  more. 

As  many  drops  as  from  Adonis  bled, 

So  many  tears  the  sorrowing  Venus  shed: 

For  every  drop  on  earth  a  flower  there  grows; 

Anemones  for  tears;  for  blood  the  rose.”  — Elton. 

HYMN  TO  THE  EVENING  STAR. 

“  Mild  star  of  eve,  whose  tranquil  beams 
Are  grateful  to  the  queen  of  love, 

Fair  planet,  whose  effulgence  gleams 
More  bright  than  all  the  hosts  above, 

And  only  to  the  moon’s  clear  light 
Yields  the  first  honors  of  the  night! 

All  hail,  thou  soft,  thou  holy  star, 

Thou  glory  of  the  midnight  sky! 

And  when  my  steps  are  wandering  far, 

Leading  the  slieplierd-minstrelsy, 

Then,  if  the  moon  deny  her  ray, 

Oh  guide  me,  Hesper,  on  my  way! 

No  savage  robber  of  the  dark, 

No  foul  assassin  claims  thy  aid 
To  guide  liis  dagger  to  its  mark, 

Or  light  him  on  his  plundering  trade; 

My  gentle  errand  is  to  prove 

The  transports  of  requited  love.”  — Merivnle. 

MOS'CHUS. 

BORN  ABOUT  184  B.C. 

This  author,  the  friend  and  pupil  of  Bion,  was  a  native 
of  Syracuse,  in  the  island  of  Sicily.  He  early  repaired  to 
Alexandria,  then  the  lode-star  of  all  poets,  and  became 
very  intimate  with  Bion.  Of  his  personal  history  we  only 
know  that  he  spent  many  years  in  Egypt,  making  the  poems 
of  Bion  the  model  of  his  own  literary  style. 

Of  his  existing  works  the  most  important  are  the  Elegy 
on  Bion  and  Enropa.  He  was,  like  Bion  and  Theocritus, 


BION. 


213 


a  bucolic  poet.  Indeed,  so  closely  do  many  of  his  composi¬ 
tions  resemble  those  of  Theocritus,  that  some  critics  have 
imagined  the  two  names  to  belong  to  the  same  person. 
But  as  Moschus  has  expressly  alluded  to  Theocritus  as  one 
of  his  predecessors,  this  opinion  must  be  an  incorrect  one. 

The  “  Elegy  on  Bion  ”  is  full  of  tender  recollections  of 
his  friend,  and  of  his  ardent  attachment  to  him.  Like  the 
Lycidas  of  Milton,  it  overflows  with  the  exuberance  of 
melancholy  fancy,  and  has  all  the  richness  and  pathos  of 
Bion’s  similar  elegy  from  which  we  have  quoted. 

FROM  THE  ELEGY  ON  BION. 

“Ye  woods,  with  grief  your  waving  summits  bow, 

Ye  Dorian  fountains,  murmur  as  ye  flow, 

From  weeping  urns  your  copious  sorrows  slied, 

And  bid  the  rivers  mourn  for  Bion  dead ; 

Ye  shady  groves,  in  robes  of  sable  hue 
Bewail;  ye  plants,  in  pearly  drops  of  dew: 

Ye  drooping  flowers,  diffuse  a  languid  breath, 

And  die  with  sorrow  at  sweet  Bion’s  death: 

Ye  roses,  change  from  red  to  sickly  pale, 

And,  all  ye  bright  anemones,  bewail. 

Ye  nightingales,  that  perch  among  the  sprays, 

Tune  to  melodious  elegy  your  lays, 

And  bid  the  streams  of  Arethuse  deplore 
Bion’s  sad  fate;  loved  Bion  is  no  more: 

Nor  verse  nor  music  could  his  life  prolong. 

He  died,  and  with  him  died  the  Doric  song.” — Faiokes. 

alphe'us  and  arethtj'sa. 

“  From  where  his  silver  waters  glide 
Majestic  to  the  ocean  tide 

Through  fair  Olympia’s  plain, 

Still  his  dark  course  Alpheus  keeps 
Beneath  the  mantle  of  the  deeps, 

Nor  mixes  with  the  main. 

To  grace  his  distant  bride,  he  pours 
The  sand  of  Pisa’s  sacred  shores 


214 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


And  flowers  that  decked  her  grove: 

And,  rising  from  the  unconscious  brine, 

On  Arethusa’s  breast  divine 
Receives  the  meed  of  love. 

’Tis  thus  with  soft  bewitching  skill 
The  childish  god  deludes  our  will, 

And  triumphs  o’er  our  pride; 

The  mighty  river  owns  his  force, 

Bends  to  the  sway  his  winding  course, 

And  dives  beneath  the  tide.”  — Bland. 

CAPRICIOUS  LOVE. 

“Pan  sighs  for  Echo  o’er  the  lawn; 

Sweet  Echo  loves  the  dancing  Faun; 

The  dancing  Faun  fair  Lyda  charms; 

As  Echo  Pan’s  soft  bosom  warms, 

So  for  the  Faun  sweet  Echo  burns; 

Thus  all  inconstant  in  their  turns, 

Both  fondly  woo,  are  fondly  wooed, 

Pursue,  and  are  themselves  pursued. 

Ye  scornful  nymphs  and  swains,  I  tell 
This  truth  to  you;  pray,  mark  it  well; 

If  to  your  lovers  kind  you  prove 

You’ll  gain  the  hearts  of  those  you  love.” — Fawkes. 


THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 


As  with  Pindar  and  his  great  contemporaries  had  died 
the  golden  age  of  Grecian  poetry,  so  with  Bion  and  Mos- 
clius  its  silver  age  may  be  said  to  have  perished.  Men 
continued  to  write  verses,  but  their  works  were  not  instinct 
with  poetry  of  the  kind  which  the  world  willingly  lets 
live. 

During  the  succeeding  half  century  a  number  of  epi¬ 
grammatic  poets  flourished.  Such  verses  as  they  left  of 
any  special  value  are  included  in  the  Greek  Anthologies, 
which  comprise  collections  of  short  poems,  principally  epi¬ 
grams. 

The  earliest  of  these  compilations  was  made  by  Mele- 
a'ger,  a  native  of  Syria,  who  was  born  about  96  b.c.  He 
was  himself  a  writer  of  considerable  ability,  the  Anthology 
containing  one  hundred  and  thirty-one  of  his  own  epi¬ 
grams,  which  are  written  in  a  delicate  and  fanciful  vein. 

With  this  writer  ends  all  that  is  interesting  in  the 
poetry  of  ancient  Greece.  For  six  centuries  after  his  death 
Greek  poets  at  intervals  appeared,  but  they  have  left  no 
works  of  any  special  value. 

Collections,  similar  to  that  of  Meleager,  were  made  at 
a  later  period  by  Philip' pus  of  Thessalonica,  who  lived  in 
the  time  of  Trajan,  and  by  Aga'thias,  who  lived  in  the 
sixth  century  a.d.  The  works  of  these  compilers,  however, 
have  perished,  and  we  know  them  only  by  the  compilation 
made  from  them  by  Constantine  Ceph'alas,  in  the  tenth 
century,  who  was  himself  copied  and  condensed  by  Maxi¬ 
mus  Planu'des,  in  the  fourteenth. 

215 


216 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


The  word  Anthologist  means  a  Flower-gatherer.  Melea¬ 
ger  appended  it  to  his  work,  which  he  named  his  Garland, 
prefacing  it  with  a  set  of  verses  in  which  he  characterizes 
each  of  the  principal  writers  included  by  a  flower  or  plant 
emblematic  of  his  or  her  particular  genius. 

We  owe  to  him  some  very  valuable  relics  of  Grecian 
poetry,  extending  over  many  centuries,  and  embracing 
fugitive  verses  from  a  large  number  of  writers.  Most  of 
these  authors  are  obscure,  but  among  them  are  such  noted 
poets  as  Simonides,  Sappho,  Anacreon  and  others. 

The  poems  of  the  Anthology  have  been  variously  received 
by  modern  writers,  being  greatly  admired  by  some  and 
decried  by  others.  This  adverse  criticism  is  largely  due 
to  their  lack  of  the  modern  epigrammatic  manner.  They 
make,  indeed,  no  pretense  to  the  pungency  and  witty  sparkle 
and  sting  of  our  epigrams,  being  rather  short  poems  on 
various  subjects  than  epigrams  in  the  modern  sense  of 
the  term. 

The  poems  embraced  in  the  Anthologies  cover  a  wide 
range  of  subjects.  Many  of  them  are  dedicatory  verses, 
relating  to  the  habit  of  the  Greeks  of  dedicating  certain 
of  their  possessions  to  deities  whose  aid  they  had  received 
or  desired.  The  articles  thus  offered  were  of  the  most 
varied  character,  comprising  the  arms  and  war-spoils 
of  soldiers,  the  tools  of  mechanics,  the  toys  of  children, 
even  the  beards  of  men,  and  the  hair  and  mirrors  of 
women. 

Others  of  the  poems  are  sepulchral  in  character,  being 
written  in  honor  of  the  dead,  or  inscribed  on  tombs.  Manv 
of  them  are  didactic,  comprising  maxims,  moral  precepts, 
rules  of  conduct,  etc.  The  remainder  may  be  classed  as 
amatory,  witty,  satirical  and  literary,  which  last  embrace 
epigrams  on  poets,  dramatists,  artists,  etc. 

We  give  extracts  illustrating  these  varied  classes  of 
epigrams. 


THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 


217 


DEDICATORY. 

In  the  following,  by  Leonidas,  a  young  lad  offers  to 
Mercury  the  childish  toys  he  was  laying  aside. 

“  To  Hermes  this  fair  ball  of  pleasant  sound, 

This  boxen  rattle,  fraught  with  lively  noise, 

These  maddening  dice,  this  top  well  whirling  round, — 
Philocles  has  hung  up,  his  boyhood’s  toys.” 

The  following  is  the  most  celebrated  of  all  this  class  of 
epigrams.  It  is  ascribed  to  Plato,  the  philosopher.  Lais, 
growing  old,  dedicates  to  Venus  her  looking-glass. 

“Venus!  take  this  votive  glass, 

Since  I  am  not  what  I  was; 

What  I  shall  hereafter  be, 

Venus!  let  me  never  see.” 

This  idea  has  been  expanded  by  Julian,  the  Egyptian, 
as  follows: 

“  I,  Lais,  who  on  conquered  Greece  looked  down  with  haughty 
pride ; 

I,  to  whose  courts,  in  other  days,  a  swarm  of  lovers  hied ; 

O,  ever  lovely  Venus!  now  this  mirror  give  to  thee, 

For  my  present  self  I  would  not,  and  my  past  I  cannot,  see.” 

SEPULCHRAL. 

This  inscription  is  one  of  the  few  remains  of  the  cele¬ 
brated  poetess  Erinna. 

“  The  virgin  Myrtis’  sepulchre  am  I ; 

Creep  softly  to  the  pillar’d  mount  of  woe, 

And  whisper  to  the  grave,  in  earth  below, 

‘Grave,  thou  art  envious  in  thy  cruelty!’ 

The  very  torch  that  laughing  Hymen  bore 
To  light  the  virgin  to  the  bridegroom’s  door, 

With  that  same  torch  the  bridegroom  lights  the  fire 
That  dimly  glimmers  on  her  funeral  pyre. 

Thou,  too,  O  Hymen !  bid’st  the  nuptial  lay 
In  elegiac  moanings  die  away.” 

10 


218 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


AMATORY. 

“  But  I  would  be  a  mirror, 

So  thou  may’st  pleased  behold  me; 

Or  robe,  with  close  embraces 
About  thy  limbs  to  fold  me; 

A  crystal  fount  to  lave  thee; 

Sweet  oils  thy  hair  to  deck; 

A  zone,  to  press  thy  bosom ; 

Or  pearl,  to  gem  thy  neck; 

Or,  might  I  worship  at  tliy  feet, 

A  sandal  to  thy  feet  I’d  be; 

E’en  to  be  trodden  on  were  sweet, 

If  to  be  trodden  on  by  thee.” — Anacreon. 

DIDACTIC. 

“  All  say  that  you  are  rich ;  I  say,  not  so ; 

You’re  poor;  wealth  only  by  its  use  we  know. 

What  you  enjoy  is  yours;  what  for  your  heirs 
You  hoard,  already  is  not  yours  but  theirs.” 

— Anonymous. 

“  ’Tis  said  that  Virtue  dwells  sublime 
On  rugged  cliff's,  full  hard  to  climb, 

Where  round  her  ranged,  a  sacred  band 
Acknowledge  her  divine  command; 

But  mortal  ne’er  her  form  may  see, 

Unless  his  restless  energy 

Breaks  forth  in  sweat  that  wins  the  goal, 

The  perfect  manhood  of  the  soul.” — Simonides. 

LITERARY. 

There  are  very  numerous  epigrams  on  poets  in  the  An¬ 
thology.  It  has  been  supposed  that  they,  or  many  of  them, 
formed  a  continuous  poem,  being  a  gallery  of  the  successive 
poets.  We  give  some  of  the  more  striking.  The  follow¬ 
ing  exists  in  several  varied  forms. 

IIOMER. 


“  Seven  Grecian  cities  vied  for  Homer  dead 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  begged  his  bread.” 


THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 


SAPPHO. 

“  Some  thoughtlessly  proclaim  the  Muses  nine, 

A  tenth  is  Lesbian  Sappho,  maid  divine.” 

— Ascribed  to  Plato. 

ARISTOPHANES. 

“  The  Graces  seeking  for  a  shrine, 

Whose  glories  ne’er  should  cease, 

Found,  as  they  strayed,  the  soul  divine 

Of  Aristophanes.”  — Plato. 

ARISTOTLE. 

“  Here,  from  one  mould,  a  statue  we  erect 
To  Aristotle  —  and  to  Intellect.” — Anonymous. 

ARTISTIC. 

“  The  Paphian  Queen  to  Cnidus  made  repair 
Across  the  tide,  to  see  her  image  there. 

Then  looking  up  and  round  the  prospect  wide, 
‘Where  did  Praxiteles  see  me  thus?’  she  cried.” 

— Ascribed  to  Plato. 

WITTY  AND  SATIRICAL. 

“  Asclepi'ades,  the  Miser,  in.  his  house 
Espied  one  day,  with  some  surprise,  a  mouse; 

‘  Tell  me,  dear  mouse,’  he  cried,  ‘  to  what  cause  is  it 
I  owe  this  pleasant  but  unlooked-for  visit?’ 

The  mouse  said,  smiling:  ‘Fear  not  for  your  hoard, 

I  come,  my  friend,  to  lodge,  and  not  to  board.’  ” 

— Lucilius. 

Dick  cannot  blow  his  nose  whene’er  he  pleases, 

His  nose  so  long  is,  and  his  arm  so  short; 

Nor  ever  cries,  ‘  God  bless  me !  ’  when  he  sneezes, — 

He  cannot  hear  so  distant  a  report.” — Anonymous. 

CRETAN  warrior’s  SONG. 

“  My  spear,  my  sword,  my  shaggy  shield ! 

With  these  I  till,  with  these  I  sow; 

With  these  I  reap  my  harvest  field, — 

No  other  wealth  the  Gods  bestow; 


220 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


With  these  I  plant  the  fertile  vine; 

With  these  I  press  the  luscious  wine. 

My  spear,  my  sword,  my  shaggy  shield; 

They  make  me  lord  of  all  below, — 
For  those  who  dread  my  spear  to  wield, 
Before  my  shaggy  shield  must  bow, 
Their  fields,  tlieir  vineyards,  they  resign, 
And  all  that  cowards  have  is  mine.” 


GRECIAN  SCIENTISTS. 


In  the  history  of  ancient  literature  science  cannot  prop¬ 
erly  claim  a  place,  or  at  least  only  to  that  extent  to  which 
scientists  have  established  a  literary  reputation.  Yet  a 
chapter  on  the  scientific  labors  of  Greece  may  not  be  an 
undesirable  addition  to  our  work. 

Such  science  as  was  possessed  was  of  late  birth,  and 
may  be  considered  as  originating  with  Aristotle,  who  cer¬ 
tainly  found  very  little  of  value  on  which  to  base  his 
labors.  The  astronomical  knowledge  of  the  Chaldeans  does 
not  seem  to  have  penetrated  into  Greece,  if  we  may  judge 
from  the  theory  of  the  Rising  of  the  Nile,  already  given  in 
our  notice  of  Herodotus.  Physical  and  medical  science 
had  possibly  made  some  slight  progress  before  the  days  of 
Aristotle  and  Hippoc' rates,  yet  we  must  look  to  the  former 
of  these  for  the  earliest  valuable  researches  in  natural 
history,  and  to  the  latter  for  the  establishment  of  Medicine 
as  a  science. 

The  works  of  Aristotle  have  been  already  noticed.  Those 
of  Hippocrates  are  numerous,  though  many  of  those  as¬ 
cribed  to  him  are  undoubtedly  spurious.  Of  his  history 
very  little  is  known.  He  was  born  in  the  island  of  Cos, 
probably  about  the  year  460  b.c.  The  medical  school  of 
Cos  acquired  a  high  reputation  under  his  care,  and  he  was 
highly  esteemed  as  a  physician  and  an  author.  The  age 
at  which  he  died  is  given  at  from  85  to  109  years  by  differ¬ 
ent  writers. 

In  his  works  he  divides  the  causes  of  disease  into  two 

principal  classes,  those  consisting  of  outward  influences-, 

22; 


222 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE- 


and  those  of  a  personal  character,  proceeding  from  the 
food,  exercise,  etc.,  of  the  patient.  The  four  fluids  of  the 
body  (blood,  phlegm,  yellow  bile  and  black  bile)  he  viewed 
as  the  primary  seats  of  disease,  health  resulting  from  their 
due  combination,  and  disease  from  their  disturbance.  His 
treatment  of  diseases  was  cautious,  often  consisting  solely 
in  attention  to  diet  and  regimen;  and  he  was  sometimes 
reproached  with  letting  his  patients  die  by  doing  nothing 
to  keep  them  alive. 

He  is  most  popularly  known  by  his  Aphorisms ,  some  of 
which  are  as  follows:  “  Life  is  short  and  art  long.”  “  Time 
flies.”  “Experience  is  deceitful,  and  judgment  difficult.” 
Another  of  his  sayings  is:  “If  it  were  possible  to  make 
men  healthy  in  various  ways,  it  would  be  best  to  choose 
that  which  is  least  troublesome;  for  this  is  both  more 
honest  and  more  scientific,  unless  one  aims  at  vulgar  im¬ 
position.” 

The  most  celebrated  scientist  of  Athens,  after  the  death 
of  Aristotle,  was  Theophras'tus,  his  pupil,  and  his  successor 
as  president  of  the  Lyceum.  He  was  very  highly  esteemed 
by  the  Athenians,  living  to  a  great  age,  and  being  followed 
to  the  tomb  by  the  entire  population.  He  is  said  to  have 
complained,  on  his  death-bed,  of  the  shortness  of  life,  which 
ended  just  as  he  was  about  to  solve  its  enigmas. 

The  object  of  his  labors  was  to  develop  the  philosophy 
of  Aristotle,  explain  its  difficulties,  and  fill  up  its  incom¬ 
plete  portions.  Of  his  scientific  works  the  following  yet 
exist:  Of  Sensuous  Perception  and  its  Objects;  Of  the 
History  of  Plants  ;  Of  the  causes  of  Plants;  and  Of 
Stones. 

For  a  continuance  of  these  scientific  labors  we  must  seek 
Alexandria,  where  the  establishment  of  the  Museum  and 
the  liberal  endowments  of  the  Ptolemies,  aided  greatly  in 
progress  in  this  direction.  All  branches  of  learning  pro¬ 
gressed  under  their  fostering  care,  and  Grammar,  Chro- 


GRECIAN  SCIENTISTS. 


223 


nology  and  History  received  a  most  valuable  impulse. 
Science,  too,  gained  an  impetus  such  as  it  had  never  be¬ 
fore  received,  taking  on  its  modern  form  of  exact  observa¬ 
tion  and  accurate  induction. 

Among  the  earliest  and  most  famous  of  these  eminent 
scientists  was  Eu'clid,  whose  valuable  Elements  of  Geometry 
still  holds  its  place  as  a  text-book  in  our  schools.  He  was 
born  at  Alexandria,  about  300  b.c.,  but  his  history  is  ob¬ 
scure.  We  know  little  more  than  that  he  was  an  adherent 
of  the  Platonic  philosophy,  and  that  he  taught  mathematics 
in  the  famous  Alexandrian  school. 

He  did  not  originate  the  science  of  mathematics,  as  has 
been  claimed  for  him,  but  he  certainly  gave  it  an  immense 
impetus.  In  his  exact  and  rigid  geometrical  method  he 
has  never  been  excelled.  There  are  also  extant  treatises 
on  music,  optics,  etc.,  ascribed  to  him,  though  it  is  doubtful 
if  they  are  all  authentic. 

The  second  of  these  great  names  is  that  of  Eratos'thenes, 
whose  varied  erudition  gained  him  the  repute  of  knowing 
everything,  and  who  held  the  second  place  in  all  sciences, 
and  the  first  in  two,  Astronomy  and  Geography.  He  was 
born  at  Cyrene,  276  b.c.,  and  was  librarian  of  the  Alex¬ 
andrian  library,  under  Ptolemy  Euergetes.  He  died  at 
eighty,  of  voluntary  starvation,  having  become  blind  and 
weary  of  life. 

As  an  astronomer  he  held  a  most  eminent  position 
among  ancient  scientists.  He  measured  the  obliquity  of 
the  ecliptic,  with  a  result  remarkably  correct,  considering 
the  means  at  his  command.  He  also  drew  up  a  catalogue 
of  the  fixed  stars,  amounting  to  675,  but  this  work  is  lost. 
In  his  geometrical  labors  he  measured  an  arc  of  the  me¬ 
ridian,  and  calculated  from  it  the  magnitude  of  the  globe, 
with  a  result  not  very  greatly  distant  from  the  true  figures. 
His  work  on  geography  was  of  great  value  in  his  times, 
being  the  first  truly  scientific  treatise  on  the  subject.  He 


224 


TIIE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 

wrote,  besides,  on  morals,  history,  grammar,  and  various 
other  subjects. 

The  most  celebrated  of  ancient  mathematicians  was  Archi- 
me'des,  born  at  Syracuse,  about  287  b.c.,  and  a  student  in 
the  school  of  Euclid.  Our  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  pre¬ 
vious  state  of  mathematical  science  prevents  us  from  cor¬ 
rectly  estimating  the  merits  of  Archimedes,  but  discoveries 
of  the  utmost  importance  are  known  to  be  his.  His  great 
treatises  on  the  “Sphere  and  Cylinder,”  on  “Spheroids  and 
Conoids,”  and  on  the  “  Measurement  of  the  Circle,”  are 
among  his  most  valuable  contributions  to  this  science. 

He  may  almost  be  said  to  have  originated  the  theory  of 
mechanics,  and  the  science  of  hydrostatics,  and  first  estab¬ 
lished  the  truth  that  a  body  plunged  in  a  fluid  loses  a  part 
of  its  weight  just  equal  to  the  weight  of  the  displaced  fluid. 
It  was  by  this  law  that  he  discovered  how  much  alloy  the 
goldsmith,  whom  King  Hiero  had  commissioned  to  make  a 
crown  of  pure  gold,  had  mixed  with  the  precious  metal. 

He  discovered  the  principle  of  the  lever,  and  was  so 
elated  over  his  discovery  as  to  boast  that  if  he  had  a  proper 
fulcrum  for  his  lever  he  could  move  the  world.  Another 
of  his  important  productions  is  the  water  screw,  by  which 
water  is  made,  as  it  were,  to  lift  itself  by  its  own  weight. 

During  the  siege  of  Syracuse  by  the  Romans  Archimedes 
exerted  all  his  mechanical  genius  in  defense  of  the  city, 
inventing  machines  which  astonished  and  baffled  the  assail¬ 
ants.  When  finally  the  Romans  took  the  city  by  surprise, 
Archimedes,  according  to  tradition,  was  found  sitting  in 
the  public  square,  with  a  number  of  geometrical  figures 
drawn  before  him  in  the  sand.  As  a  Roman  soldier  rushed 
upon  him,  he  called  out  to  the  rude  warrior  not  to  spoil 
the  circle.  But  the  soldier  cut  him  down. 

By  his  own  directions  there  was  engraved  on  his  tomb¬ 
stone  a  cylinder  enclosing  a  sphere,  in  commemoration  of 


GRECIAN  SCIENTISTS. 


225 


his  discovery  of  the  relation  between  these  solids  —  on 
which  discovery  he  set  particular  value. 

Another  noted  mathematician  of  the  Alexandrian  school 
was  Apollo' nius  of  Perga,  who  lived  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
second  century  b.c.,  and  made  some  important  additions  to 
the  discoveries  of  Euclid.  He  perfected  the  theory  of  conic 
sections,  his  work  on  this  subject  being  still  preserved,  partly 
in  the  original  Greek,  and  partly  in  an  Arabic  translation. 

The  next  of  these  Alexandrian  scientists  to  whom  we 
will  allude  is  Hippar'chus,  the  celebrated  astronomer,  and 
the  first  to  reduce  astronomy  to  a  systematic  science.  He 
was  born  about  the  beginning  of  the  second  century  b.c., 
but  nothing  is  known  of  his  personal  history.  Of  his  many 
works  on  the  science  only  the  least  important,  the  “  Com¬ 
mentary  on  Aratus,”  has  come  down  to  us.  His  other 
works  treated  on  astronomy  and  geography. 

All  we  know  concerning  his  discoveries  comes  from  the 
Syntaxis  of  Ptolemy,  from  which  we  learn  that  Hipparchus 
discovered  the  precession  of  the  equinoxes,  corrected  the 
previous  estimate  of  the  length  of  the  year,  established  the 
solar  and  lunar  theories,  and  originated  or  greatly  extended 
the  theory  of  epicycles.  He  also  invented  the  astrolabe, 
and  drew  up  a  catalogue  of  1080  fixed  stars,  with  the  celes¬ 
tial  latitude  and  longitude  of  each. 

Ptol'emy,  to  whom  our  knowledge  of  the  discoveries  of 
Hipparchus  is  due,  was  a  native  of  Egypt,  and  was  living 
in  Alexandria  in  139  a.d.,  which  is  all  we  know  of  his  per¬ 
sonal  history.  A  number  of  his  works  on  astronomy  and 
geography  exist,  the  most  important  of  them  being  the 
Syntaxis ,  or  the  Almagest ,  as  the  Arabians  have  named  it; 
and  the  Geography.  These  works  became  the  standard  text¬ 
books  to  succeeding  ages;  the  first  continuing  in  vogue  till 
the  time  of  Copernicus;  the  second  till  our  knowledge  of 
geography  was  extended  by  the  maritime  discoveries  of  the 
fifteenth  century. 


226 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


His  astronomical  work  was  largely  a  compilation  from 
the  labors  of  his  predecessors,  principally  Hipparchus,  but 
as  lie  remains  the  only  existing  authority  on  ancient 
astronomy  the  system  set  forth  in  the  Almagest  has 
received  his  name. 

This  system  is  that  known  as  the  theory  of  epicycles. 
In  his  theory  the  earth  was  the  center  of  the  universe,  all  the 
heavenly  bodies  rotating  around  it.  Earth,  the  most  stable 
of  the  elements,  held  the  lowest  place;  then  came  water, 
then  air,  then  fire,  and  next  ether,  extending  indefinitely 
upward.  Beyond  ether  were  certain  zones  or  heavens, 
each  containing  an  immense  crystal  shell,  in  which  the 
heavenly  bodies  were  fixed,  and  carried  round  by  the  rota¬ 
tion  of  the  shell.  There  were  eight  of  these  spheres,  one 
for  each  of  the  known  planets  and  one  for  the  fixed  stars. 
But  as  new  discoveries  were  made  in  the  heavens  it  became 
necessary  to  invent  new’  epicycles,  until  the  system  grew  so 
cumbrous  that  it  fell  to  pieces  of  its  own  weight,  and  was 
swept  aside  by  the  Copern ican  theory,  after  holding  su¬ 
preme  sway  for  twenty  centuries. 

In  geography  Ptolemy  also  appears  as  an  editor  and  im¬ 
prover,  basing  Ins  work  on  that  of  the  little  known  Mari' - 
nus  of  Tyre,  and  making  many  valuable  corrections  to  the 
previous  systems  of  geographical  knowledge. 

With  Ptolemy  ends  the  list  of  noted  Greek  scientists. 


LATER  GREEK  HISTORIANS. 


After  the  conquest  of  Greece  by  Rome  a  number  of  his¬ 
torians  of  some  eminence  and  much  industry  arose,  of 
Greek  extraction,  but  employing  their  pens  principally 
upon  the  glories  and  the  conquests  of  Rome. 

Of  these  the  first  and  most  talented  was  Polybius.  He 
was  preceded  by  a  number  of  others,  however,  who  viewed 
the  history  of  Rome  as  of  less  importance,  but  to  whom 
he  frequently  refers.  We  will  therefore  glance  at  some 
of  the  more  noted  of  these. 

The  work  of  Polybius  was  expressly  intended  to  continue 
the  history  of  Timse'us,  an  industrious  writer,  who  was 
born  about  352  b.c.,  and  whose  principal  works  bear  the  fol¬ 
lowing  titles:  Concerning  Syria;  History  of  Italy  and  Sicily ; 
History  of  Greece  and  Sicily;  The  Olympic  Vidors ,  etc. 
Of  these  works  only  fragments  remain.  Timseus,  though 
faulty,  and  incurring  much  censure  from  Polybius,  was 
probably  industrious  and  careful  in  his  research.  But  the 
chief  interest  in  his  lost  histories  comes  from  their  relation 
to  Polybius,  who  commenced  where  he  left  off,  and  who 
constantly  refers  to  him. 

Another  writer  of  some  note  was  Ara't.us  of  Sicyon,  who 
carried  down  the  history  of  Greece  to  220  b.c.  His  work 
is  praised  by  Polybius,  who  makes  occasional  use  of  it. 

Polybius  was  indebted  also  to  several  other  writers  of 
less  importance,  and  seems,  indeed,  to  have  studied  all  the 

preceding  history  available  to  him. 

227 


228 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


POLYBIUS. 

BORN  204  B.C. 

This  most  celebrated  of  the  later  Greek  historians  was  a 
native  of  Megalop'olis,  an  Arcadian  town.  From  his  father, 
who  was  a  general  of  the  Achse'an  League,  Polybius  re¬ 
ceived  valuable  instruction  in  politics  and  military  science. 
He  afterward  himself  became  a  military  commander,  and 
one  of  the  most  influential  men  of  his  native  country.  In 
168  b.c.,  when  Rome  summoned  one  thousand  noble  Achae- 
ans  to  that  city  to  answer  the  charge  of  failing  to  assist  her 
armies  against  King  Perseus,  Polybius  was  included  in 
the  number. 

They  remained  in  Italy  seventeen  years,  not  being  tried, 
but  distributed  among  the  Etrurian  towns.  Polybius,  hav¬ 
ing  gained  the  friendship  of  Scipio,  was  allowed  to  reside 
in  Rome,  having  access,  through  the  favor  of  his  friend,  to 
the  public  documents,  and  attending  Scip'io  in  all  his  mili¬ 
tary  expeditions.  After  the  release  of  the  Achseans.  and 
their  return  home,  he  rejoined  Scipio,  attended  him  in  his 
African  expeditions,  and  was  present  at  the  taking  of 
Carthage. 

But  war  breaking  out  between  the  Achaeans  and  Rome 
he  returned  to  his  native  country,  and  exerted  all  his  influ¬ 
ence  to  procure  favorable  terms  for  the  vanquished.  His 
countrymen  were  so  grateful  for  his  services  in  this  re¬ 
spect  that  they  erected  statues  to  him  in  several  of  their 
towns. 

The  remainder  of  his  life  seems  to  have  been  occupied 
in  writing  his  historical  work,  and  in  traveling  for  infor¬ 
mation.  We  know  from  himself  that  he  visited  Africa,  Spain 
and  Gaul,  and  that  he  traveled  in  Egypt  in  the  latter  part 
of  his  life.  He  died  in  his  eighty-second  year,  in  conse¬ 
quence  of  a  fall  from  his  horse. 


POLYBIUS. 


229 


As  a  historian  Polybius  ranks  high  among  ancient  writers. 
His  work  embraces  particularly  the  period  between  220  and 
146  b.c.,  but  gives  a  preliminary  sketch  of  the  history  of 
Rome  from  its  capture  by  the  Gauls  to  the  outbreak  of  the 
Second  Punic  War.  It  is  principally  devoted  to  this  war, 
and  to  the  Social  War  in  Greece,  ending  with  the  capture 
of  Corinth  and  the  fall  of  Grecian  independence  in  146  b.c. 
His  main  object  was  to  show  how,  in  the  short  space  of 
time  included,  the  greater  part  of  the  world  had  been 
conquered  by  the  Romans.  His  history  was  divided  into 
forty  books,  of  which  only  five  exist  entire,  though  impor¬ 
tant  fragments  of  the  others  are  extant. 

The  great  merit  of  this  work  is  the  unity  of  plan  and 
the  well-defined  purpose  with  which  it  is  written,  the  care 
with  which  the  author  has  collected  his  materials,  his  love 
of  truth,  and  his  sound  judgment,  which  is  assisted  by  his 
great  knowledge  of  political  and  military  life.  In  its 
general  features  it  follows  the  method  of  Thucydides,  and 
is  of  great  worth  both  for  its  design  and  its  execution;  yet 
it  is  marred  by  serious  faults,  which  render  it  but  little 
read,  as  compared  with  the  works  of  the  great  preceding 
historians. 

Polybius  seems  to  have  had  an  utter  lack  of  imagina¬ 
tion,  despising  it  in  others,  and  professing  a  contempt  for 
embellishment.  He  uses  the  corrupt  Greek  of  his  time, 
and  is  generally  careless  in  his  rhetoric  and  the  formation 
of  his  sentence.  His  style  is  dry,  didactic,  business-like, 
frequent  digressions  interrupt  the  narrative,  and  it  is 
marked  by  constant  repetitions  and  tautology.  These 
faults  render  him,  while  one  of  the  most  valuable,  one  of 
the  least  entertaining  of  Greek  authors,  and  have  caused 
his  work  to  be  neglected  in  comparison  with  others  of 
much  less  real  worth. 

We  extract  the  latter  portion  of  his  graphic  descrip¬ 
tion  of  Hannibal’s  crossing  the  Alps. 


230 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


hannibal’s  crossing  the  alps. 

It  was  now  near  the  time  of  winter.  The  mountains  were  already 
covered  deep  with  snow,  and  the  whole  army  seemed  to  be  under 
the  greatest  dejection  and  dismay,  being  not  only  exhausted  by  the 
miseries  which  they  had  suffered,  but  disheartened  also  by  the  view 
of  those  that  were  yet  to  come. 

Hannibal,  therefore,  had  recourse  to  the  only  expedient  that  re¬ 
mained  to  raise  their  drooping  courage.  He  assembled  the  troops 
together,  and  from  the  summit  of  the  Alps,  which,  when  considered 
in  regard  to  Italy,  appeared  to  stand  as  the  citadel  of  all  the  coun¬ 
try,  pointed  to  their  view  the  plains  beneath  that  were  watered  by 
the  Po;  and  reminded  them  of  the  favorable  disposition  of  the  Gauls 
toward  them.  He  showed  them  the  very  ground  on  which  Rome 
itself  was  situated.  By  this  prospect  they  were  in  some  degree  re¬ 
covered  from  their  fears.  On  the  morrow,  therefore,  they  decamped 
and  began  to  descend  the  mountains. 

There  was  now  no  enemy  to  oppose  their  passage,  except  some 
lurking  parties  only,  which  sometimes  fell  upon  them  by  surprise 
for  the  sake  of  plunder.  But  by  reason  of  the  snow,  and  the  badness 
of  the  ground,  their  loss  was  not  much  inferior  to  that  which  they 
had  suffered  in  the  ascent ;  for  the  way  was  not  only  steep  and  nar¬ 
row,  but  so  entirely  covered  also  by  the  snow,  that  the  feet  knew  not 
where  to  tread  with  safety;  and  as  often  as  they  turned  aside  from 
the  proper  path  they  wTere  instantly  hurried  upon  some  precipice. 
Yet  the  soldiers,  to  whom  such  accidents  wrerc  now  become  familiar, 
sustained  all  these  miseries  with  an  amazing  firmness. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  place  which  neither  the  elephants  nor  the 
beasts  of  burden  could  in  any  manner  pass.  For  the  ground,  which 
was  before  extremely  steep  and  broken,  had  again  very  lately  fallen 
away,  and  left  the  road  quite  impracticable.  At  this  sight  the  troops 
were  again  seized  with  consternation,  and  even  began  to  lose  all 
hopes  of  safety.  Hannibal  at  first  endeavored  to  avoid  this  road  by 
changing  the  direction  of  his  march,  and  making  a  circuit  around 
it.  But  he  soon  was  forced  to  desist  from  that  design ;  for  the  way 
on  either  side  was  utterly  insuperable,  through  an  accident  of  a  sin¬ 
gular  kind  that  is  peculiar  to  the  Alps.  The  snows  of  the  former 
year,  having  remained  unmelted  on  the  mountains,  were  now  cov¬ 
ered  over  by  those  which  had  fallen  in  the  present  winter.  The 
latter  being  soft,  and  of  no  great  depth,  gave  an  easy  admission  to 
the  feet.  But  when  these  were  trodden  through,  and  the  soldiers 
began  to  touch  the  snows  that  lay  beneath,  which  were  now  become 


POLYBIUS. 


231 


so  firm  that  t-hey  would  yield  to  no  impression,  their  feet  both  at 
once  fell  from  under  them,  as  if  they  had  been  walking  upon  the 
top  of  some  high  and  slippery  precipice.  And  this  mischance  grew 
after  to  a  still  worse  extent;  for  when  they  struggled  with  their 
hands  and  knees  to  recover  themselves  from  their  fall,  as  the  ground 
was  forward  extremely  steep,  they  were  sure  to  slide  away  with 
greater  rapidity  and  violence  than  before,  carrying  likewise  with 
them  whatever  they  had  grasped  for  their  support. 

The  beasts,  also,  that  were  loaded  with  the  baggage,  having,  by 
their  endeavors  to  rise  again  where  they  had  fallen,  broken  the  sur¬ 
face  of  the  lower  snow,  remained  closely  wedged  in  the  pits  which 
they  had  made;  and  by  the  weight  of  the  burdens  under  which  they 
lay,  as  well  as  from  the  unyielding  firmness  of  the  snows  under 
them,  were  fixed  immovably  in  the  place. 

When  this  attempt  was  thus  found  to  be  impracticable  Hannibal 
returned  again  to  the  narrow  road  which  he  had  quitted,  and  having 
removed  the  snow  he  encamped  at  the  entrance  of  it,  and  ordered 
the  soldiers  to  make  a  firm  and  level  way  around  the  precipice 
itself;  and  this,  with  the  expense  of  vast  pains  and  labor,  was  at 
last  effected,  so  that  in  one  day’s  time  there  was  sufficient  room  for 
the  horses  and  beasts  of  burden  to  descend.  These  were  imme¬ 
diately  conducted  down,  and,  having  gained  the  plains,  were  sent 
away  to  pasture  in  places  where  no  snow  had  fallen. 

The  Numidians  were  then  commanded  to  enlarge  the  road  that 
the  elephants  might  pass,  but  so  laborious  was  the  task  that,  though 
fresh  men  succeeded  to  those  that  were  fatigued,  it  was  not  without 
great  difficulty  that  they  completed  it  in  three  days’ continuous  toil ; 
after  which  these  beasts  came  down  the  mountains,  being  almost 
exhausted  and  spent  with  fatigue.  Hannibal  then  descended  last, 
with  all  the  army,  and  thus,  on  the  third  day,  gained  the  plains, 
having  lost  great  numbers  of  his  soldiers  in  the  march,  as  well  in 
passing  rivers,  as  in  engagements  which  he  was  obliged  to  sustain. 
Many  of  his  men  had  also  perished  among  the  precipices  of  the 
Alps,  and  a  far  greater  number  of  horses  and  beasts  of  burden. 

'  — Hampton. 


I 


OTHER  GRiECO-ROMAN  HISTORIANS. 


Polybius  was  followed,  in  the  three  or  four  centuries 
succeeding,  by  a  number  of  writers  of  Greek  extraction,  of 
less  merit  but  great  industry,  who  devoted  their  talents  to 
the  elucidation  ot  Roman  history. 

Chief  among  these  were  Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus, 
Diodo'rus  of  Sicily,  Ap'pian,  and  Dion  Cas'sius,  descrip¬ 
tions  of  whose  works  we  will  include  in  the  present  chap¬ 
ter. 

Dionysius  Halicarnassus  was  a  native  of  the  city  whose 
name  he  bears,  born  probably  about  the  middle  of  the 
century  before  Christ.  He  came  to  Rome  in  29  b.c.,  where 
he  occupied  himself  in  studying  the  language,  literature 
and  antiquities  of  the  Romans,  his  death  occurring  about 
7  b.c.  He  wrote  an  extensive  historical  work,  in  twenty 
books,  called  Roman  Archaeology,  also  works  of  great,  merit 
on  rhetoric.  He  was,  in  fact,  far  more  talented  as  a  rhetori¬ 
cian  and  literary  critic  than  as  a  historian,  though  his  most 
valuable  work  to  us  is  his  history,  containing,  as  it  does,  a 
mine  of  information  about  the  constitution,  religion,  annals, 
laws,  and  social  life  of  the  Romans. 

It  was  intended  to  take  the  place  of  all  other  works  as 
an  introduction  to  Polybius,  being  carried  down  from  the 
earliest  times  to  264  b.c.,  when  the  history  of  Polybius 
really  begins.  As  the  latter  had  sought  to  reconcile  his 
countrymen  to  Roman  domination  by  showing  that  it  was 
due  to  Providence  and  the  military  genius  of  the  Romans, 
so  Dionysius  flattered  the  conquerors  by  advocating  that 

232 


OTHER  GRAECO-ROMAN  HISTORIANS. 


233 


they  were  not  a  barbarian  race,  but  of  pure  Greek  blood, 
and  that  their  institutions  could  be  identified  with  those 
of  the  Hellenes. 

This  part  of  his  work,  comprised  in  eleven  volumes,  has 
come  down  to  us  nearly  complete;  of  the  remainder  we  have 
but  a  few  fragments.  The  value  of  the  extant  portion  is  in¬ 
jured  by  the  theory  of  the  Roman  origin  which  it  advocates; 
yet  it  is  minute  in  its  treatment,  and  full  of  important 
information.  The  author  has  been  diligent  in  consulting 
original  authorities  and  collecting  ancient  traditions,  but 
usually  fails  to  discriminate  between  a  myth  and  a  his¬ 
torical  fact. 

His  style  is  very  good,  displaying  the  rhetorical  skill 
for.  which  he  was  noted;  the  language  almost  perfection; 
but  he  has  a  very  limited  conception  of  political  princi¬ 
ples,  or  of  the  historical  consistency  of  his  characters,  put¬ 
ting  into  the  mouths  of  half-civilized  Romans  the  ingen¬ 
ious  declamations  of  an  Athenian  sophist.  His  rhetorical 
works  are  valuable,  he  being  an  excellent  critic,  and  hav¬ 
ing  many  exquisite  remarks  on  the  classic  writers  of  Greece. 

Diodorus  Sic'ulus,  a  contemporary  of  the  previous  au¬ 
thor,  was  a  native  of  Agyr'ium  in  Sicily,  but  spent  many 
years  of  his  life  at  Rome,  where  he  was  engaged  in  com¬ 
piling  his  historical  work.  He  also  traveled  considerably 
in  Europe  and  Asia. 

His  object  was  to  write  a  general  history  of  the  world, 
a  great  Historical  Library ,  extending  down  from  the  myth¬ 
ical  period  to  the  beginning  of  the  Gallic  wars  of  Julius 
Caesar.  This  work  was  accomplished  in  forty  books;  the 
first  part,  in  six  books,  comprising  all  mythical  tradition 
down  to  the  Trojan  war;  the  second  part,  in  eleven  books, 
containing  the  history  of  the  world  from  1184  r».c.  to  the 
death  of  Alexander  the  Great;  the  third  part,  in  twenty- 
three  books,  bringing  the  history  down  to  the  year  60  b.c. 

Of  this  work  we  possess  the  first  five  volumes,  the  next 


234 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


five  are  wholly  lost,  the  following  ten  we  have  complete, 
and  considerable  fragments  of  the  remainder  exist.  Had 
the  author  possessed  any  powers  of  criticism  or  arrange¬ 
ment  his  work  would  have  been  of  extreme  value  to  the 
historical  student;  but  he  was  so  deficient  in  these  respects, — 
mingling  together  history,  myth  and  fiction,  and  repeatedly 
contradicting  himself, —  that  it  amounts  to  little  more  than 
an  immense  mass  of  raw,  and  scarcely  available,  material. 
He  mentions  the  names  of  many  authors,  now  lost,  of  whose 
works  he  avails  himself,  but  vitiates  his  value  in  this  re¬ 
spect  by  making  no  direct  quotations. 

His  style  has  none  of  the  affectations  of  other  Greek 
writers  of  his  date,  and  is  generally  clear  and  simple  in 
diction,  occupying  a  middle  position  between  the  best  Attic 
and  the  vulgar  Greek  of  his  time,  but  is  greatly  lacking 
in  vigor  and  animation,  being  monotonous  in  tone  and 
without  ornament. 

Appian,  a  native  of  Alexandria,  born  in  the  early  part 
of  the  second  century  a.d.,  was  the  author  of  a  Roman 
history  in  twenty-four  books,  of  which  eleven  are  extant. 
His  history  is  only  remarkable  for  the  peculiar  plan  on 
which  it  is  written.  Tt  devotes  three  books  to  the  con¬ 
quest  of  the  early  Italian  tribes  by  the  Romans,  and  then 
describes  successively  the  various  exterior  countries  that 
were  conquered  by  Rome,  following  up  their  history  until 
their  incorporation  in  the  Roman  empire. 

The  work,  however,  is  a  mere  compilation,  and  not  a 

verv  accurate  one.  In  his  earlier  books  he  follows  Dio- 

«/ 

nysius  Halicarnassus,  and  partly  replaces  the  lost  works  of 
this  author.  He  is  also  valued  for  his  quotations  from 
lost  authorities;  and  five  of  his  books,  on  the  civil  war, 
are  very  valuable,  as  there  is  no  substitute  for  them.  He 
often,  however,  makes  absurd  blunders,  particularly  in  his 
geographical  statements.  In  his  section  on  Spain,  for  in- 


OTHER  GRAECO-ROMAN  HISTORIANS. 


235 


stance,  he  states  that  it  only  takes  half  a  day  to  sail  from 
Spain  to  Britain. 

He  writes  in  a  clear  and  elegant  style,  following  the 
best  classical  models. 

Dion  Cassias,  the  latest  of  the  historians  mentioned,  was 
a  native  of  Nicm'a,  in  Bithyn'ia,  where  he  was  born  in  the 
year  155  a.d.  His  father  was  governor  of  Cilicia,  and  he 
himself  held  high  offices  under  the  Roman  emperors,  being 
a  Roman  senator  and  twice  elected  to  the  consulship. 

He  relates  that  he  was  incited  by  a  dream  to  write  a 
history  of  his  own  time,  and  by  a  similar  dream  to  write 
histories  of  Septim'ius  Seve'rus  and  Caracal' la.  He  read 
these  last  to  the  Emperor  Severus,  who  was  so  much 
pleased  with  them  that  the  author  determined  to  write  a 
history  of  Rome  from  the  earliest  times.  For  this  he  made 
great  preparations,  being  ten  years  in  studying  and  com¬ 
paring  authorities,  and  twelve  in  composition.  His  high 
position  gave  him  free  access  to  the  national  archives, 
which  has  rendered  him  a  valuable  authority  on  some 
points,  particularly  on  the  imperial  epoch  of  Rome. 

His  History  of  Borne  consists  of  eighty  books,  of  the  first 
thirty-five  of  which  we  have  but  fragments,  while  we  have 
eighteen  (from  the  thirty-sixth  to  the  fifty-fourth)  com¬ 
plete,  and  abridgments  of  the  remainder. 

He  is  thoroughly  acquainted  with  Roman  law,  and  is 
very  correct  in  the  history  of  his  own  times.  He  seems 
to  have  read  all  the  previous  historians  and  used  great 
judgment  in  selection,  which  renders  him  much  more 
trustworthy  than  the  other  authors  mentioned  in  this 
article.  In  treatment  he  imitates  Polybius,  Tacitus  and 
Thucydides,  but  is  far  from  being  their  equal  in  critical 
judgment.  His  style  is  inelegant,  imitating  the  classic 
Greek,  but  being  full  of  barbarisms  and  peculiarities. 

In  addition  to  these  Greek  annalists  of  Rome  there  are 


236 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


several  writers  of  note  who  treated  on  less  usual  subjects, 
and  whom  we  will  therefore  consider  more  at  length. 

The  most  important  of  these  are  Josephus  the  Jewish 
historian,  Plutarch  the  biographer,  Strabo  the  geographer, 
Arrian  the  historian  of  Alexander,  and  Lucian  and  Lon- 
gi'nus  the  philosophers. 

We  may  here,  however,  briefly  refer  to  Pausa'nius,  the 
annalist  of  Greek  art.  This  writer,  who  flourished  in  the 
latter  part  of,  the  second  century,  incited  by  a  firm  faith 
in  the  old  legends  and  religion  of  Greece,  traversed  that 
country,  seeking  out  the  celebrated  works  of  art,  many  of 
which  then  still  existed,  describing  great  buildings,  statues 
and  paintings,  and  giving  the  mythical  stories  connected 
with  mountains,  rivers,  founts,  etc.  He  is  careful  in  his 
topography,  and  his  Gazetteer  of  Hellas  is  the  best  existing 
hand-book  for  travellers  in  search  of  ancient  sites,  as  well 
as  valuable  for  its  descriptions  of  great  works  of  art  and 
architecture  which  have  long  since  disappeared. 

STRA'BO. 

BORN  (5(i  B.C. 

Strabo,  an  ancient  historian  and  geographer — in  which 
latter  capacity  he  is  principally  known  —  was  a  native  of 
Amase'a,  in  Pontus.  He  seems  to  have  been  of  an  opulent 
family,  and  was  well  educated,  spending  his  later  life  in 
travels  and  in  literary  leisure.  He  made  a  prolonged  stay 
in  Alexandria,  where  he  closely  studied  the  works  of  Era¬ 
tosthenes.  His  death  took  place  after  21  a.o.,  but  how  long 
after  we  do  not  know. 

His  first  great  literary  labor  was  a  continuation  of  the 
history  of  Polybius.  This  work  was  called  Historical  Com¬ 
mentaries ,  and  comprised  forty- three  books,  embracing  the 
period  from  the  downfall  of  Greece  to  the  battle  of  Ac'ti- 
urn.  It  is  entirely  lost. 


STRABO. 


237 


His  Geography  we  possess  in  a  nearly  complete  form. 
It  is  based  on  the  works  of  Eratosthenes,  and  is  of  great 
value  in  those  parts  that  record  the  author’s  own  observa¬ 
tions,  showing  with  much  accuracy  what  was  known  of 
geography  in  the  days  of  Tiberius,  and  in  a  much  more 
readable  and  interesting  manner  than  in  the  works  of 
Pliny  and  Ptolemy.  His  professed  object  is  to  give  an 
instructive  account,  of  the  known  world,  and  he  makes  no 
effort  at  scientific  construction,  being  particularly  inter¬ 
ested  in  such  localities  as  are  mentioned  in  history  and 
literature,  or  in  Hie  works  of  the  great  poets,  the  world 
having  no  interest  for  him  except  as  the  dwelling-place  of 
the  human  race.  A  valuable  feature  of  his  work  is  the 
copious  use  he  makes  of  the  writings  of  the  great  Grecian 
authors,  quoting  many  whose  productions  are  now  lost  to 
us.  The  Geography  is  comprised  in  seventeen  books,  the 
first  two  of  which  are  introductory,  and  mention  preceding 
writers  from  Homer  to  Polybius,  the  next  eight  are  de¬ 
voted  to  Europe,  the  following  six  to  Asia,  and  the  last  to 
Egypt,  and  Libya. 

His  style  is  singularly  good,  considering  his  age  and 
country,  being  always  simple,  clear  and  unaffected,  and 
without  difficulties,  except  where  he  has  been  corrupted 
by  later  editors  of  his  works.  His  Geography  is  indis¬ 
pensable  as  an  aid  to  and  elucidation  of  the  labors  of  the 
ancient  historians. 

We  quote  from  his  description  of  the  Gallic  races: 

TIIE  CHARACTER  OF  THE  GAULS. 

The  entire  race  which  now  goes  by  the  name  of  Gallic  is  war¬ 
like,  passionate  and  always  ready  for  lighting,  but  otherwise  simple 
and  not  malicious.  If  irritated,  they  rush  in  crowds  to  the  conflict, 
openly  and  without  any  circumspection,  and  thus  they  are  easily 
vanquished  by  those  who  employ  stratagem.  For  any  oue  may 
exasperate  them  when,  where  and  under  what  pretext  he  pleases; 
he  will  always  find  them  ready  for  danger,  with  nothing  to  support 


238 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


them  except  their  violence  and  daring.  .  .  .  Nevertheless,  they 

may  be  easily  persuaded  to  devote  themselves  to  anything  useful, 
and  have  thus  engaged  both  in  science  and  letters. 

Their  power  consists  both  in  the  size  of  their  bodies  and  in 
their  numbers.  Their  equipment  is  in  keeping  with  the  size  of 
their  bodies.  They  have  a  long  sword  hanging  at  their  right  side, 
with  a  long  shield  and  lances  in  proportion;  some  of  them  also 
use  bows  and  slings;  they  have  also  a  piece  of  wood  resembling  a 
pilum,  which  they  hurl  not  out  of  a  thong,  but  from  the  hand,  and 
to  a  farther  distance  than  an  arrow.  They  principally  make  use  of 
it  in  shooting  birds. 

To  the  present  day  most  of  them  lie  on  the  ground,  and  take 
their  meals  seated  on  straw.  They  subsist  principally  on  milk  and 
all  kinds  of  flesh,  especially  that  of  swine,  which  they  eat  both 
fresh  and  salted.  Their  swine  live  in  the  fields,  and  surpass  in 
height,  strength  and  swiftness.  The  people  dwell  in  great  houses, 
arched,  constructed  of  plank  and  wicker,  and  covered  with  a  heavy 
thatched  roof. 

To  their  simplicity  and  vehemence  the  Gauls  join  much  folly, 
arrogance  and  love  of  ornament.  They  wear  golden  collars  upon 
their  necks,  and  bracelets  on  their  arms  and  wrists;  and  those  who 
are  of  any  dignity  have  garments  dyed  and  worked  with  gold. 
Their  lightness  of  character  renders  them  intolerable  when  they 
conquer,  and  forces  them  into  consternation  when  worsted.  In  ad- 
dilion  to  their  fury  they  have  a  barbarous  and  absurd  custom,  com¬ 
mon,  moreover,  with  many  nations  of  the  north,  of  suspending  the 
heads  of  their  enemies  from  their  horses’  necks  on  their  return  from 
battle,  and  when  they  have  arrived,  nailing  them  as  a  spectacle  to 
their  gates.  The  heads  of  any  illustrious  persons  they  embalm  with 
cedar,  exhibit  them  to  strangers,  and  would  not  sell  them  for  their 
weight  in  gold. — Hamilton. 


A  GALLIC  FABLE. 

But  what  Artemido'rus  tells  us  concerning  the  crows  partakes  of 
fiction.  lie  narrates  that  on  the  coast  washed  by  the  ocean  there  is 
a  harbor  named  the  Port  of  Two  Crows,  and  that  here  two  crows 
may  be  seen  with  their  right  wings  white.  Those  who  have  any 
dispute  come  here,  and  each  one  having  placed  a  plank  for  himself 
upon  a  lofty  eminence,  sprinkles  crumbs  thereon.  The  birds  fly  to 
these,  eat  up  the  one  and  scatter  the  other;  and  he  whose  crumbs 


JOSEPHUS. 


239 


arc  scattered  gains  the  case.  This  narration  has  decidedly  too  much 
the  air  of  fiction. 

He  states  that  the  people  are  great  admirers  of  the  Greeks,  and 
relates  many  particulars  concerning  them  not  applicable  to  their 
present  state.  This  is  one — that  they  take  great  care  not  to  become 
fat,  and  that  if  any  young  man  exceeds  a  measure  of  a  certain  girdle 
he  is  punished. — Hamilton.. 

JOSE'PHUS. 

BORN  ‘XI  AD. 

Flavius  Josephus,  the  great  Jewish  historian,  certainly 
deserves  a  place  among  the  classic  writers,  and  as  he  was 
of  Eastern  extraction,  and  wrote  in  Greek  as  well  as  in 
Hebrew,  we  may  here  include  his  works  among  those  of 
Greek  authors.  He  was  of  royal  Jewish  lineage,  and  was 
born  at  Jerusalem,  37  a.d.  He  received  a  careful  educa¬ 
tion,  and  his  acquirements  in  Hebrew  and  Greek  literature 
soon  drew  public  attention  to  him. 

When  only  twenty-six  years  of  age  he  was  chosen  del¬ 
egate  to  Nero  at  Rome,  and  he  afterward  did  his  utmost 
to  dissuade  his  countrymen  from  their  fatal  insurrection 
against  this  great  power.  At  the  time  of  the  Roman 
advance  upon  Judea  he  was  governor  of  Galilee,  and  dis¬ 
played  great  valor  and  prudence.  The  city  of  Jotopata, 
which  he  bravely  defended,  was  captured,  after  a  siege 
of  forty-seven  days,  Josephus  being  taken  prisoner,  but  he 
gained  the  favor  of  Vespasian,  the  Roman  general,  by  pre¬ 
dicting,  as  he  himself  tells  us,  that  his  captor  would  yet 
become  emperor  of  Rome. 

He  accompanied  Titus  to  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  and 
was  present  at  the  fall  of  that  city  in  70  a.d  The  re¬ 
mainder  of  his  life  seems  to  have  been  passed  in  Rome, 
where  he  engaged  in  literary  studies  and  in  authorship. 

It  is  not  known  when  he  died. 

His  first  work,  the  History  of  the  Jewish  I Var,  was 

most  favorably  received  in  Rome,  gaining  a  place  in  the 


240 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


public  library,  and  the  honor  of  a  statue  to  its  author. 
This  is  in  seven  books,  written  both  in  Hebrew  and  in 
Greek,  the  Greek  version  alone  being  extant.  He  wrote  also 
Jewish  Antiquities ,  in  twenty  books,  containing  the  history 
of  the  Jews  from  the  earliest  times;  a  treatise  on  the 
Antiquity  of  the  Jeivs,  against  A'pion,  which  is  valuable 
for  its  extracts  from  old  historians;  and  an  Autobiography, 
which  supplements  the  Antiquities. 

His  style  is  easy  and  elegant,  and  displays  the  influence 
of  the  Greek  classic  authors,  as  his  opinions  do  of  Greek 
philosophy.  He  manifests  a  sincere  attachment  to  his 
country,  and  great  pride  and  enthusiasm  in  the  old  na¬ 
tional  history,  but  in  his  religious  views  shows  that  he 
had  imbibed  much  of  the  “  rationalism  ”  of  the  Greeks. 
Thus  he  speaks  of  Moses  as  a  human,  rather  than  a  divinely 
inspired  law-giver;  doubts  the  miracle  of  the  crossing  of 
the  Red  Sea;  the  swallowing  of  Jonah  by  the  whale;  and, 
in  general,  whatever  is  claimed  as  showing  that  there  was 
a  special  interposition  of  Providence  in  behalf  of  his  race. 
We  extract  the  following  description  from  Whiston's  trans¬ 
lation. 

THE  BURNING  OF  THE  TEMPLE. 

So  Titus  retired  into  the  tower  of  Antonio,  and  resolved  to  storm 
the  temple  the  next  day,  early  in  the  morning,  with  his  whole  army, 
and  to  encamp  round  about  the  holy  house ;  but  as  for  that  house,  God 
had  for  certain  long  ago  doomed  it  to  the  tire;  and  now  that  fatal 
(lay  was  come,  according  to  the  revolution  of  ages:  it  was  the  tenth 
day  of  the  month  Lous,  upon  which  it  was  formerly  burnt  by  the 
king  of  Babylon ;  although  these  flames  took  rise  from  the  Jews 
themselves;  for  upon  Titus’s  retiring  the  seditious  lay  still  for  a 
little  while,  and  then  attacked  the  Romans  again,  when  those  that 
guarded  the  holy  house  fought  with  those  that  quenched  the  tire 
that  was  burning  in  the  inner  court  of  the  temple;  but  these  Ro¬ 
mans  put  the  Jews  to  flight,  and  proceeded  as  far  as  the  holy  house 
ilself. 

At  which  time  one  of  the  soldiers,  without  staying  for  any  or 
tiers,  and  without  any  concern  or  dread  upon  him  at  so  great  an 


JOSEPHUS. 


241 


undertaking,  and  being  hurried  by  a  certain  divine  fury,  snatched 
somewhat  out  of  the  materials  that  were  on  fire,  and  being  lifted 
up  by  another  soldier,  he  set  fire  to  a  golden  window,  through 
which  there  was  a  passage  to  the  rooms  that  were  round  about 
the  holy  house,  on  the  north  side  of  it.  As  the  flames  wTent  up¬ 
ward  the  Jews  made  a  great  clamor,  such  as  so  mighty  an  afflic¬ 
tion  required,  and  run  together  to  prevent  it;  and  now  they  spared 
not  their  lives  any  longer,  nor  suffered  anything  to  restrain  their 
force,  since  that  holy  house  was  perishing,  for  whose  sake  it  was 
that  they  kept  such  a  guard  about  it.  .  .  . 

While  the  holy  house  was  on  fire  everything  was  plundered 
that  came  to  hand,  and  ten  thousand  of  those  that  were  caught 
were  slain;  nor  was  there  a  commiseration  of  any  age,  nor  any 
reverence  of  gravity;  but  children  and  old  men,  and  profane  per¬ 
sons  and  priests,  were  all  slain  in  the  same  manner;  so  that  this 
war  went  round  all  sorts  of  men  and  brought  them  to  destruc¬ 
tion,  as  well  those  that  made  supplication  for  their  lives,  as  those 
that  defended  themselves  by  fighting. 

The  flame  was  also  carried  a  long  way,  and  made  an  echo,  together 
with  the  groans  of  those  that  were  slain;  and  because  this  hill  was 
high,  and  the  works  at  the  temple  were  very  great,  one  would  have 
thought  that  the  whole  city  had  been  on  fire.  Nor  can  any  one 
imagine  anything  either  greater  or  more  terrible  than  this  noise; 
for  there  was  at  once  a  shout  of  the  Roman  legions,  who  were  march¬ 
ing  all  together,  and  a  sad  clamor  of  the  seditious,  who  were  now 
surrounded  with  fire  and  sword.  The  people  also  that  were  left 
above  were  beaten  back  upon  the  enemy,  and  under  a  great  con¬ 
sternation,  and  made  sad  moans  at  the  calamity  they  were  under; 
the  multitude  also  that  was  in  the  city  joined  in  this  outcry  with 
those  that  were  upon  the  hill;  and  besides  many  of  those  that  were 
worn  away  by  the  famine,  and  their  mouths  almost  closed,  wiien 
they  saw  the  fire  of  the  holy  house  they  exerted  their  utmost 
strength,  and  brake  out  in  groans  and  outcries  again.  Perai'a  did 
also  return  the  echo,  as  well  as  the  mountains  round  about  the 
city,  and  augmented  the  force  of  the  entire  noise. 

Yet  was  the  misery  itself  more  terrible  than  this  disorder;  for  one 
w7ould  have  thought  that  the  hill  itself,  on  which  the  temple  stood, 
was  seething  hot,  as  full  of  fire  on  every  part  of  it  as  the  blood 
wras  larger  in  quantity  than  the  fire,  and  those  that  were  slain  more 
in  number  than  those  that  slew  them;  for  the  ground  did  nowhere 
appear  visible,  for  the  dead  bodies  that  lay  on  it;  but  the  soldiers 
11 


24:2 


TIIE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


went  over  heaps  of  these  bodies,  as  they  ran  upon  such  as  tied 
from  them. 

As  for  the  priests,  some  of  them  plucked  up  from  the  holy  house 
the  spikes  that  were  upon  it,  with  their  bases,  which  were  made 
of  lead,  and  shot  them  at  the  Romans  instead  of  darts. 

But  then,  as  they  gained  nothing  by  so  doing,  and  as  the  tire 
burst  out  upon  them,  they  retired  to  the  wall  that  was  eight  cubits 
broad;  then  there  they  tarried;  yet  did  two  of  these  of  eminence 
among  them,  who  might  have  saved  themselves  by  going  over  to 
the  Romans,  or  have  borne  up  with  courage  and  taken  their  for¬ 
tune  with  the  others,  throw  themselves  into  the  fire,  and  were  burnt 
together  with  the  holy  house. 

The  soldiers  also  came  to  the  rest  of  the  cloisters  that  were  in 
the  outer  court  of  the  temple,  whither  the  women  and  children 
and  a  great  mixed  multitude  of  the  people  fled,  in  number  about 
six  thousand.  And  before  Caesar  had  given  any  commands  about 
these  people,  the  soldiers  were  in  such  a  rage  that  they  set  the 
cloister  on  fire;  by  which  means  it  came  to  pass  that  some  of 
those  were  destroyed  by  throwing  themselves  down  headlong,  and 
some  were  burnt  in  the  cloisters  themselves.  Nor  did  any  one 
of  these  escape  with  his  life. 

PLU'TARCH. 

Plu'tarch  was  a  native  of  Chserone'a  in  Boeo'tia,  where 
he  was  born  about  the  middle  of  the  first  century  a.d. 
He  studied  philosophy  at  Delphi,  and  afterward  lived  for 
some  years  at  Rome,  and  in  other  parts  of  Italy,  being 
occupied  in  public  business  and  in  teaching  philosophy. 
The  later  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  his  native  town, 
where  he  officiated  as  archon  and  as  priest  of  Apollo.  He 
lived  until  106  a.d.,  but  we  do  not  know  how  much  longer. 

Plutarch  wrote  a  large  number  of  works,  more  than 
sixty  in  all,  of  which  all  but  his  celebrated  Lives  are  in¬ 
cluded  under  the  general  title  of  Moralia,  or  Ethical  Works; 
among  which  may  be  classed  such  historical  subjects  as 
Roman  Questions ;  Greelc  Questions  ;  The  Fortunes  of  the 
Romans ;  The  Valor  of  Alexander ;  The  Malignity  of  He¬ 
rodotus ,  etc.  He  is  much  better  known,  however,  as  a 


PLUTARCH, 


243 


biographer  than  as  a  Platonist,  his  philosophical  works 
being  nearly  bare  of  speculative  philosophy,  though  they 
have  a  value  in  their  good  sense,  their  just  views  on  prac¬ 
tical  subjects,  and  their  benevolence  of  tone. 

His  Parallel  Lives  contains  biographies  of  forty  six  emi¬ 
nent  Greeks  and  Romans,  these  being  arranged  in  pairs, 
with  the  object  of  a  comparison  between  the  lives,  talents 
and  virtues  of  each  pair.  They  begin  with  the  lives  of 
Theseus  and  Romulus,  and  end  with  those  of  Dion  and 
Junius  Brutus.  Some  of  these  pairs  are  chosen  with  little 
judgment,  and  the  comparison  between  them  far-fetched. 
In  a  few  cases  the  comparison  is  omitted,  with  no  loss  to 
the  interest  of  the  biographies 

The  universal  and  lasting  popularity  of  Plutarch’s  Lives 
is  due  to  the  dramatic  vigor  with  which  it  is  written, 
each  person  being  drawn  with  the  vividness  of  a  living 
individual,  and  all  minor  details  subordinated  to  the  charac¬ 
ter  as  a  whole.  And,  in  addition  to  this  merit  of  artistic 
harmony,  the  work  is  full  of  anecdotes,  to  such  an  extent 
that  it  forms  one  of  our  chief  authorities  for  the  table- 
talk  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  Its  graphic  interest  is 
shown  in  the  fact  that  Shakespere  wrote  his  Julius  Caesar, 
Coriolanus,  and  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  mainly  from  Thomas 
North’s  translation  of  Plutarch,  in  some  cases  using  the  ex¬ 
act  words. 

This  anecdotal  style,  fine  characterization,  and  great  nat¬ 
uralness  of  description,  have  given  Plutarch  a  wide  circle 
of  readers,  in  both  ancient  and  modern  times,  and  a  power¬ 
ful  influence  on  the  art  of  writing  biography.  Another 
feature  of  great  value  to  students  of  ancient  literature  lies 
in  his  numerous  quotations  from  preceding  authors,  two 
hundred  and  fifty  in  all  being  quoted,  of  whom  eighty  are 
lost  to  us. 

In  regard  to  style  this  work  is  far  from  being  a  fine 
specimen  of  Attic  literature,  being  faulty  and  careless  in 


244 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


language,  lacking  the  purity  of  the  old  tongue,  and  display¬ 
ing  want  of  grammatical  and  rhetorical  skill.  He  is,  more¬ 
over,  often  inaccurate  in  his  facts,  and  partial  in  his 
conclusions,  and  is  much  better  acquainted  with  his  Greek 
than  with  his  Roman  characters.  Yet  with  all  these  de¬ 
fects  this  work  possesses  a  high  value  for  its  dramatic 
and  graphic  vivacity,  its  sensible  reflections,  and  the  high 
standard  of  morality  which  everywhere  pervades  it. 

He  expressly  declares  that  his  object  is  not  to  write 
histories,  but  lives,  his  professed  purpose  being  the  delinea¬ 
tion  of  character.  With  this  object  he  often  purposely 
neglects  the  order  of  time,  and  makes  historical  events 
subordinate  to  jests  or  to  anecdotes.  Yet  the  biographies 
are  correct  in  their  general  historical  impression. 

ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 

To  return  to  Cleopatra:  Plato  admits  four  sorts  of  flattery,  but 
she  had  a  thousand.  Were  Antony  serious,  or  disposed  to  mirth, 
she  had  at  any  moment  some  new  delight  or  charm  t.o  meet  his 
wishes.  At  every  turn  she  was  upon  him,  and  let  him  escape  her 
neither  by  day  nor  by  night.  She  played  at  dice  with  him,  drank 
with  him,  hunted  with  him;  and  when  he  exercised  in  arms  she 
was  there  to  see.  At  night  she  would  go  with  him  to  disturb  and 
torment  people  at  their  doors  and  windows,  dressed  like  a  serving 
woman,  for  Antony  also  went  in  servant’s  disguise ;  and  from  these 
expeditions  he  often  came  home  very  scurvily  answered,  and  some¬ 
times  even  beaten  severely,  though  most  people  guessed  who  it  was. 
However,  the  Alexandrians,  in  general,  liked  it  all  well  enough,  and 
joined  good  humoredly  and  kindly  in  his  frolic  and  play,  saying 
they  were  much  obliged  to  Antony  for  acting  his  tragic  parts  at 
Rome,  and  keeping  his  comedy  for  them. 

It,  would  be  trifling  were  I  to  be  particular  in  his  follies,  but  his 
fishing  must  not  be  forgotten.  He  went  out  one  day  to  angle  with 
Cleopatra,  and  being  so  unfortunate  as  to  catch  nothing  in  the 
presence  of  liis  mistress,  he  gave  secret  orders  for  the  fisherman  to 
dive  under  water,  and  put  fishes  that  had  been  already  taken  upon 
his  hooks;  and  these  he  drew  so  fast  that  the  Egyptian  perceived  it. 

But  feigning  great  admiration  she  told  everybody  how  dextrous 


PLUTARCH. 


245 


Antony  was,  and  invited  them  to  come  next  day  and  see  him  again. 
So  when  a  number  of  them  had  come  on  board  the  fishing  boats,  as 
soon  as  he  had  let  down  his  hook  one  of  her  servants  was  before¬ 
hand  with  his  divers,  and  fixed  upon  his  hook  a  salted  fish  from 
Pontus.  Antony,  feeling  his  line  give,  drew  up  the  prey;  and  when, 
as  may  be  imagined,  great  laughter  ensued,  “  Leave,’'  said  Cleopa¬ 
tra,  “  the  fishing  art,  General,  to  us  poor  sovereigns  of  Pharos  and 
Canopus;  your  game  is  cities,  provinces  and  kingdoms.” 

THE  DEATH  OF  DEMOSTHENES. 

Demosthenes,  Ar'chias  heard,  had  taken  sanctuary  at  the  temple 
of  Neptune  in  Calau'ria,  and  crossing  over  thither  in  some  light 
vessels,  as  soon  as  he  had  landed  himself  and  the  Thracian  spear¬ 
men  that  came  with  him,  he  endeavored  to  persuade  Demosthenes 
to  accompany  him  to  Antip'ater,  as  if  he  should  meet  with  any  mild 
usage  from  him. 

But  Demosthenes,  in  his  sleep  the  night  before,  had  a  strange 
dream.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  acting  a  tragedy,  and  con¬ 
tended  with  Archias  for  the  victory;  and  though  he  acquitted  him¬ 
self  well,  and  gave  good  satisfaction  to  the  spectators,  yet  for  want 
of  better  furniture  and  provision  for  the  stage  he  lost  the  day.  And 
so  while  Archias  was  discoursing  with  him,  with  many  expressions 
of  kindness,  he  sat  still  in  the  same  posture,  and  looking  up  stead¬ 
fastly  upon  him,  “  O  Archias,”  said  he,  “  I  am  as  little  affected  by 
your  promises  now  as  I  used  formerly  to  be  by  your  acting.” 

Archias  at  this  beginning  to  grow  angry,  and  to  threaten  him, 
“Now,”  said  Demosthenes,  “you  speak  like  a  genuine  Macedonian 
oracle ;  before  you  were  but  acting  a  part.  Therefore  forbear  only 
a  little,  while  I  write  a  word  or  two  home  to  my  family.”  Having 
thus  spoken  he  withdrew  into  the  temple,  and  taking  a  scroll  as  if 
he  meant  to  write,  he  put  the  reed  into  his  mouth,  and  biting  it,  as 
he  was  wont  to  do  when  he  was  thoughtful  or  writing,  he  held  it 
there  for  some  time.  Then  he  put  down  his  head  and  covered  it. 

The  soldiers  that  stood  by  the  door,  supposing  all  this  to  proceed 
from  want  of  courage  and  fear  of  death,  in  derision  called  him 
effeminate,  and  faint-hearted,  and  cowardly.  But  Archias,  drawing 
near,  desired  him  to  cheer  up,  and  repeating  the  same  kind  things 
he  had  spoken  before,  he  once  more  promised  him  to  make  his 
peace  with  Antipater. 

But  Demosthenes,  perceiving  that  now  the  poison  had  pierced 
and  seized  liis  vitals,  uncovered  his  head,  and  fixing  his  eyes  upon 


246 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Arcliias;  “Now,”  said  lie,  “as  soon  as  you  please  you  may  com¬ 
mence  the  part  of  Creon  in  the  tragedy,  and  cast  out  this  body  of 
mine  unburied.  But,  O  gracious  Neptune,  I,  for  my  part,  while  I 
am  yet  alive,  rise  up  and  depart  out  of  this  sacred  place;  though 
Antipater  and  the  Macedonians  have  not  left  so  much  as  thy  temple 
unpolluted.” 

After  he  had  thus  spoken,  and  desired  to  be  held  up,  because  he 
already  began  to  tremble  and  stagger;  as  he  was  going  forward,  and 
passing  by  the  altar,  he  fell  down,  and  with  a  groan  gave  up  the 
ghost. 

He  died  on  the  16th  day  of  Pyanep'sion,  the  most  sad  and  solemn 
day  of  the  ThesmophoTia,  which  the  women  observe  by  fasting  in 
the  temple  of  the  goddess—  Clough. 

AH'  RIAN. 

BORN  ABOUT  100  A.D. 

Flavius  Arria'nus,  a  native  of  Nicomedi  a  in  Bithyn'ia, 
and  a  writer  of  great  merit  both  in  history  and  philoso¬ 
phy,  was  an  ardent  disciple  of  Epicte'tus,  the  celebrated 
Stoic  philosopher.  The  learned  men  of  Athens  were  highly 
pleased  with  his  first  works,  in  advocacy  of  that  philosoph¬ 
ical  system,  and  honored  him  with  the  freedom  of  their 
city.  He  afterward  held  high  offices  at  Rome,  but  spent 
the  later  years  of  his  life  in  his  native  city,  engaged  in 
literary  pursuits. 

He  seems  to  have  been  strongly  impressed  with  the 
works  of  Xenophon,  following  him  closely  in  all  his  writ¬ 
ings,  and  appears  to  have  formed  the  idea  of  being  to 
Epictetus  what  Xenophon  had  been  to  Socrates.  With  this 
object  he  published  the  Philosophical  Lectures  of  Epictetus , 
in  eight  books,  of  which  four  only  have  been  preserved; 
Conversations  with  Epictetus,  in  twelve  books,  which  are  lost; 
and  Abstract  of  Practical  Philosophy  of  Epictetus,  which 
is  extant.  This  work  maintained  its  authority  for  centuries 
as  a  manual  of  practical  philosophy,  and  the  ardent  labors 
of  his  disciple  have  given  to  the  great  Stoic  philosopher 


ARRIAN. 


247 


a  celebrity  only  second  to  that  of  the  great  thinkers  of 
the  golden  age  of  Greece. 

The  most  important  work  of  Arrian,  however,  is  the 
Anab'asis  of  Alexander ,  or  History  of  the  Campaigns  of 
Alexander  the  Great ,  a  work  written  in  imitation  of  Xeno¬ 
phon’s  Anabasis,  and  which  we  possess  in  a  nearly  complete 
condition.  It  occupies  the  period  from  the  death  of  Philip 
to  the  death  of  Alexander,  and  is  written  in  a  simple  and 
vivid  manner,  inferior  only  to  his  celebrated  model.  As 
a  historical  critic  he  is  excellent,  being  the  best  and  most 
trustworthy  among  the  numerous  historians  of  Alexander. 
He  is  especially  clear  in  his  accounts  of  military  move¬ 
ments,  having  been  himself  a  general  in  Asia  Minor,  and 
being  thoroughly  acquainted  with  military  tactics.  The 
speeches  introduced  in  his  work  show  a  great  knowledge 
of  human  nature,  and  some  of  them,  as  that  of  Alexander 
to  his  mutinous  soldiers,  are  masterpieces  of  oratory. 

Everything  likely  to  affect  the  clearness  of  the  narra¬ 
tive  is  avoided,  and  probably  for  this  reason  he  wrote  a 
separate  work  On  India,  which  gives  an  excellent  and  ac¬ 
curate  description  of  the  coasts  and  the  interior  of  that 
country.  A  curious  feature  of  it  are  the  proofs  presented 
by  the  author  to  show  that  further  south  than  India  the 
earth  is  uninhabitable,  on  account  of  the  extreme  heat. 

Other  valuable  works  are,  A  Voyage  round  the  Coasts 
of  the  Euxine  Sea ;  A  Voyage  round  the  Coasts  of  the  Red 
Sea,  and  A  Treatise  on  the  Chase,  in  which  he  also  imi¬ 
tates  Xenophon.  Among  his  lost  works,  which  were  prob¬ 
ably  of  great  value,  is  a  History  of  Alexander  s  Successors ; 
History  of  Parthia ;  History  of  Bithynia ;  History  of  the 
Alani,  and  several  biographies. 

Arrian  was  one  of  the  best  writers  of  his  day,  all  his 
works  bearing  marks  of  care,  honesty  and  correctness.  In 
style  he  is  remarkably  lucid  and  perspicuous,  professedly 
imitating  the  best  writers  of  Greece,  and  carrying  this  so 


248 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


far  as  often  to  use  their  exact  phraseology.  His  military 
knowledge  makes  him  very  spirited  in  descriptions  of  bat¬ 
tles,  and  in  all  respects  his  works  are  interesting  and  in¬ 
structive. 

Alexander’s  reply  to  darius. 

While  Alexander  was  besieging  Tyre  ambassadors  arrived  from 
Darius,  telling  him  that  Darius  would  bestow  upon  him  10,000 
talents  of  silver  if  he  would  set  his  mother,  his  wife,  and  children, 
at  liberty,  as  also  all  the  country  between  the  Euphrates  and  the 
Hellespont ;  and  if  he  would  take  his  daughter  in  marriage  he 
should  be  styled  his  friend  and  confederate. 

Which  embassy  being  debated  in  council,  Parmenio  is  said  to 
have  told  him  that  if  lie  were  Alexander  he  would  accept  the 
promise,  and  when  the  end  of  the  war  was  gained  no  longer  tempt 
the  hazard  thereof.  To  which  the  other  is  said  to  have  replied: 
So  would  he  if  he  were  Parmenio;  but  as  he  was  Alexander,  he 
must  act  worthy  of  Alexander. 

He,  therefore,  answered  the  ambassadors  that  he  neither  wanted 
Darius’s  money,  nor  would  accept  of  part  of  his  empire  instead  of 
the  whole,  for  that  all  his  treasure  and  his  country  was  his ;  that  he 
would  marry  his  daughter  if  he  pleased  without  his  consent,  but  if 
he  had  a  mind  to  try  his  humanity  let  him  come  to  him. 

THE  FOUNDING  OF  ALEXANDRIA. 

Alexander  continued  his  journey  into  Egypt,  as  he  had  at  first 
proposed;  and  when  he  had  passed  by  the  city  Cano'pus,  and 
sailed  round  the  lake  Ma'rias,  he  pitched  upon  the  place  where 
Alexandria  now  stands;  and  that  situation  seeming  to  him  con¬ 
venient  for  a  city,  he  even  then  presaged  that  it  would  become  rich 
and  populous.  Being,  therefore,  fired  with  the  thoughts  of  this 
undertaking,  he  laid  the  foundations  of  the  city,  pointed  to  the 
place  where  the  forum  should  be  built,  gave  orders  where  the  tem¬ 
ples  should  be  erected,  and  how  many,  and  also  which  should  be 
dedicated  to  the  gods  of  Greece,  and  which  to  the  Egyptian  Isis, 
and  lastly  showed  what  should  be  the  circuit  of  the  walls.  And 
when  he  had  consulted  the  Gods  upon  this  subject  by  sacrifices,  the 
omens  promised  success. 

There  is  a  story  told  concerning  this  which  seems  not  improbable, 
namely,  that  when  Alexander  had  a  mind  to  mark  out  the  ground 


LUCIAN. 


249 


for  the  walls,  and  had  nothing  ready  fit  for  that  purpose,  one  of  his 
workmen  advised  him  to  gather  in  all  the  meal  which  his  soldiers 
had  in  their  stores,  and  scatter  it  upon  the  ground  where  the  foun¬ 
dations  of  the  walls  would  be  drawn.  His  soothsayers,  who  had 
already  given  him  many  true  predictions,  viewing  this,  are  said  to 
have  prophesied  that  it  would  be  blessed  with  plenty  of  all  things 
necessary  for  life,  but  especially  the  fruits  of  the  earth. 

THE  GORDIAN  KNOT  UNTIED. 

As  soon  as  Alexander  arrived  at  Gordium,  and  had  entered  the 
castle  wherein  the  palace  of  Gordius  and  his  son  Midas  had  stood, 
he  discovered  his  ambition  of  seeing  Gordius’s  chariot,  and  the 
knot  which  was  reported  to  have  been  made  in  the  harness  thereof. 
For  it  was  reported  concerning  this  chariot  that  whoever  should 
untie  the  knot  whereby  it  hung  should  obtain  the  sovereignty  of 
all  Asia. 

The  cord  in  which  this  knot  was  tied  was  composed  of  the  inner 
rind  of  the  Corneil  tree,  and  no  eye  could  perceive  where  it  had 
begun  or  ended,  Alexander,  when  he  could  find  no  possible  way 
of  untying  it,  and  yet  unwilling  to  leave  it  tied,  lest  it  should  cause 
some  fears  to  arise  in  the  minds  of  his  soldiers,  is  said  by  some  to 
have  cut  the  cords  with  his  sword,  and  affirmed  that  the  knot  was 
untied. 

But  Aristobu'lus  assures  us  that  he  wrested  the  wooden  pin  out 
of  the  beams  of  the  wagon,  which  being  driven  in  across  the  beam 
held  it  up,  and  so  took  the  yoke  from  it. 

How  this  knot  was  loosed  by  Alexander  I  dare  not  affirm.  How¬ 
ever,  he  and  his  followers  departed  fully  satisfied,  as  if  the  prophecy 
concerning  the  solution  had  been  fulfilled. — Rooke. 


LU'CIAN. 

BORN  ABOUT  125  A.D. 

Lucian,  the  greatest  of  classic  satirists  and  humorists, 
was  a  Syrian  by  birth,  being  a  native  of  Samos' ata,  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Euphrates.  His  parents  were  poor,  and 
he  was  apprenticed  when  young  to  his  uncle,  who  followed 
the  trade  of  a  statuary.  But  as  the  youthful  artist  spoiled 
the  first  piece  of  marble  that  was  put  into  his  hands,  he 


250 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GR  ECE. 


was  sent  home  with  a  beating.  This  failure  induced  him 
to  drop  the  fine  arts,  and  take  up  literature  as  a  profession. 

He  traveled  to  Greece  at  twenty  years  of  age,  and  to 
Gaul  at  twenty-seven.  Here  he  remained  ten  years,  en¬ 
gaged  in  teaching  rhetoric-,  in  which  he  had  become  pro¬ 
ficient.  He  also  visited,  as  a  traveling  Sophist,  Syria, 
Phoenicia  and  Egypt.  In  these  journeys  he  grew  thor¬ 
oughly  disgusted  with  the  popular  religions,  and,  among 
other  adventures,  exposed  a  false  prophet  named  Alexan¬ 
der,  who  came  very  near  having  him  drowned  for  his  pains. 

Having  grown  somewhat  wealthy  by  his  success  as  a 
teacher  in  Gaul,  he  settled,  in  165  a.d.,  in  Athens,  where 
he  lived  a  life  of  comfort  and  leisure,  engaged  in  the  study 
of  philosophy  and  in  literary  labors.  He  finally  became 
connected  with  the  law  courts  of  Alexandria,  and  died 
about  the  end  of  the  second  century. 

Lucian  has  been  called  the  Greek  Voltaire,  having  the 
versatility  and  skill  of  the  great  French  writer,  mingled 
with  a  keen  humor  which  has  influenced  such  modern 
satirists  as  Cervantes,  Rabelais,  Butler  and  Sterne.  Both 
in  philosophy  and  in  religion  he  called  no  man  and  no 
system  master.  His  pungent  ridicule  and  rhetoric,  and 
his  utter  contempt  for  falsehood,  gave  the  death-blow  to 
heathenism;  while  philosophers  are  the  constant  subjects 
of  his  humorous  ridicule,  and  of  his  richly  inventive 
fancy. 

His  literary  talents  are,  indeed,  of  the  highest  order, 
and  give  him  a  place  with  the  best  classic  authors.  As 
a  writer  of  dialogues  he  had  eminent  ability,  and  his  love 
of  truth,  his  hatred  of  shams,  bigotry  and  ostentation,  his 
efforts  as  an  educational  reformer,  and  his  genial  humor 
and  keen  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  leave  him  without  a  peer, 
in  his  peculiar  line,  among  ancient  writers.  One  of  his 
great  merits  was  his  cultivation  of  the  old  Attic  style,  in 
which  he  gained  remarkable  skill;  while  he  did  his  utmost 


LUCIAN. 


251 


to  oppose  the  corruptions  into  which  the  pure  Hellenic 
tongue  had  fallen. 

As  an  author  he  was  prolific,  there  being  seventy-nine 
works  and  several  poems  extant  under  his  name,  though 
many  of  these  are  considered  spurious.  His  works  have 
been  classified  under  seven  heads:  the  Rhetorical;  the 
Critical;  the  Biographical;  Romances;  Dialogues;  Miscel¬ 
lanies;  and  poems.  Of  these  the  most  celebrated  are  his 
Dialogues,  the  principal  of  which  are:  The  Sale  of  Lives ; 
Dialogues  of  the  Gods ;  The  Fisherman ,  or  the  Revivified; 
The  Banquet ,  or  the  Lapithce ;  Timon  the  Misanthrope ; 
Dialogues  of  the  Dead;  and  Icaro-Menippus ,  or  Above  the 
Clouds.  The  best  of  his  romances  is  his  work  called  True 
Histories,  which  is  full  of  a  genuine  Rabelaisian  humor. 

Lucian  has  alwavs  been  a  favorite  with  scholars,  and 
has  been  translated  into  most  of  the  European  languages. 
We  give  a  few  characteristic  extracts.  The  following  is 
suggestive  of  the  gravej^ard  scene  in  Hamlet. 

FROM  THE  DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  MERCURY  AND  MENIp'pUS. 

Menippus.  Where  are  your  beautiful  men  and  beautiful  women, 
Mercury  ?  I  am  a  stranger  liere,  but  just  arrived,  and  therefore  beg 
that  you  would  introduce  me  to  them. 

Mercury.  Menippus,  I  have  not  time  for  that  at  present.  Turn, 
however,  to  your  right  hand,  and  you  will  see  Hyacintlius  and 
Narcissus  and  Nereus  and  Achilles  and  Tyro  and  Helen  and  Leda 
and  the  rest  of  them,  the  admiration  of  former  ages. 

Men.  I  see  nothing  but  bones,  and  skulls  without  hair.  They 
all  look  alike. 

Mer.  Those  bones  and  skulls  which  you  seem  to  despise  were 
the  very  persons  whom  the  poets  so  extolled. 

Men.  Show  me  Helen,  I  beseech  you,  for  I  cannot  distinguish 
her. 

Mer.  Yonder  bald  pate  is  she. 

Men.  And  were  a  thousand  ships  manned  from  every  port  of 
Greece,  were  so  many  Greeks  and  Barbarians  slain,  and  so  many 
cities  destroyed,  for  her  ? 


252 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


Mer.  You  never  saw  lier  when  she  was  alive.  If  you  had  you 
would  not  have  wondered;  for,  as  Homer  says: 

“No  wonder  such  celestial  charms 
For  nine  long  years  should  set  the  world  in  arms.” 

When  the  flower  is  withered,  and  has  lost  its  color,  it  becomes  dis¬ 
gustful,  though  where  it  grew  and  flourished,  it  was  universally 
admired. 

Men.  All  I  wonder  at,  Mercury,  is  that  the  Grecians  did  not  con¬ 
sider  how  ridiculous  it  was  to  give  themselves  so  much  trouble 
about  an  object  of  such  a  short-lived  and  decaying  nature. 

Mer.  I  have  no  leisure  time  to  philosophize  with  you,  Menip- 
pus ;  so  repose  yourself  wherever  you  please.  I  must  go  and  fetch 
down  some  more  mortals. 

FALSE  AND  TRUE  PHILOSOPHERS. 

Once  upon  a  time  a  certain  Egyptian  monarch,  we  are  told, 
taught  some  apes  to  dance  the  Pyr'rhic  dance.  The  beasts  (for 
they  mimic  every  human  action)  soon  learned  the  lesson,  and 
skipped  about  in  masks  and  purple  robes;  and  the  sight  pleased 
for  a  long  time,  till  an  arch  fellow,  who  came  as  a  spectator,  took 
some  nuts  out  of  his  pocket,  and  threw  a  handful  among  them; 
when  the  performers  immediately  forgot  their  procession,  and  from 
Pyrrhic  dancers  returned  to  mere  apes  again,  tore  ofl‘  their  masks 
and  clothes,  and  went  to  fighting  for  the  fruit;  thus  was  the  celeb¬ 
rity  at  once  dissolved,  to  the  great  diversion  of  the  spectators. 

And  just  in  the  same  manner  do  these  men  act.  These  I  have 
exposed,  nor  will  I  ever  cease  to  detect  their  frauds,  to  laugh  at,  and 
to  ridicule  them.  But  of  you,  and  such  as  resemble  you  (for  many 
still  there  are  who  follow  true  philosophy  and  observe  your  laws), 
I  were  mad  indeed  to  utter  anything  severe  or  disrespectful.  What 
is  there  in  you,  Pythagoras,  or  Plato,  or  Aristotle,  or  Chrysip'pus, 
that  has  the  least  similitude  with  them?  As  the  proverb  says,  it  is 
Hercules  and  the  ape.  Do  they  imagine  themselves  like  you  be¬ 
cause  they  wear  long  beards,  put  on  austere  faces,  and  philoso¬ 
phize?  I  could  even  bear  all  this  if  they  acted  their  parts  well. 
But  the  vulture  more  resembles  the  nightingale  than  they  do  the 
real  philosopher. 

FROM  THE  TRUE  HISTORIES. 

After  sailing  about  three  hundred  stadia  we  fell  in  upon  a  little 
deserted  island.  Here  we  took  in  water,  for  ours  was  almost  gone; 


LONGINUS. 


253 


killed  with  our  arrows  two  wild  oxen  and  departed.  These  oxen 
had  horns  not  on  their  heads,  but  under  their  eyes.  A  little  beyond 
this  we  got  into  a  sea,  not  of  water,  but  of  milk,  and  upon  it  we 
saAV  an  island  full  of  vines.  This  whole  island  was  one  compact, 
well-made  cheese,  as  we  afterward  experienced  by  many  a  good 
meal  which  we  made  upon  it.  The  vines  have  grapes  upon  them 
which  yield,  not  wine,  but  milk. 

At  another  place  they  are  bound  with  chains  of  roses, 
and  brought  captive  into  a  city  of  gold  with  walls  of  em¬ 
erald.  The  narrative  goes  on  as  follows: 

The  seven  gates  were  all  made  out  of  one  trunk  of  a  cinnamon 
tree,  the  pavement  within  the  walls  of  ivory,  the  temples  of  the 
Gods  were  of  beryl,  the  great  altar  on  which  they  offered  the  heca¬ 
tombs  all  of  one  large  amethyst.  Round  the  city  flowed  a  river  of 
the  most  precious  ointment,  100  cubits  in  breadth  and  deep  enough 
to  swim  in.  The  baths  are  large  houses  of  glass  perfumed  with 
cinnamon,  and  instead  of  water  filled  with  warm  dew.  For  clothes 
they  wear  spiders’  webs,  very  fine,  and  of  a  purple  color. 

They  have  no  bodies,  but  only  the  appearance  of  them.  Their 
souls  seem  to  be  naked  and  separated  from  them,  with  only  an  ex¬ 
ternal  similitude  of  a  body,  and  unless  you  attempt  to  touch  you 
can  scarce  believe  but  that  they  have  one.  In  this  place  nobody 
ever  grows  old,  but  at  whatever  age  they  enter  here,  at  that  they 
al  w  ays  rem  ain . — Frcmcldin. 

LONGI'NUS. 

BOKN  ABOUT  213  A.D. 

Dionys'ius  Cas'sius  Longi'nus,  one  of  the  most  famous 
of  Platonic  philosophers  and  rhetoricians,  was  probably  a 
native  of  Em'esa,  in  Syria,  though  some  writers  make 
Athens  his  native  place.  He  traveled  much  when  young, 
in  company  with  his  parents,  and  made  the  acquaintance 
of  many  celebrated  scholars  and  philosophers.  He  studied 
Greek  literature  at  Alexandria,  and  subsequently  settled  as 
a  teacher  of  rhetoric  in  Athens,  where  he  acquired  a  great 
reputation. 

Having  lived  a  long  time  at  Athens,  where  he  composed 


254 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  GREECE. 


his  best  works,  he  visited  Asia,  and  there  became  acquainted 
with  Zeno'bia,  the  future  queen  of  Palmy' ra.  He  became 
her  instructor  in  Greek  literature,  and,  after  she  had  at¬ 
tained  the  throne,  was  appointed  her  confidential  adviser 
and  prime  minister.  In  this  position,  incited  by  his  ardent 
love  of  liberty,  he  induced  her  to  rebel  against  Rome. 
The  natural  result  followed.  She  was  defeated  and  cap¬ 
tured,  and  her  city  taken.  Longinus,  being  accused  by  the 
captive  queen  as  her  adviser  to  the  rebellion,  was  beheaded 
as  a  traitor,  by  command  of  the  Emperor  Aurelian,  273  a.d. 
He  met  his  fate  with  the  firmness  and  cheerfulness  of  a 
Socrates. 

Longinus  was  possessed  of  immense  knowledge,  so  mucn 
so  that  he  was  called  a  “  living  library,”  and  a  “  walking 
museum.”  His  taste  and  critical  acuteness  were  in  accord 
with  his  acquirements,  he  being  probably  the  best  critic  of 
all  antiquity.  In  him  the  spirit  of  both  Demosthenes  and 
Plato  was  reproduced,  of  the  former  in  his  love  of  liberty, 
of  the  latter  in  his  philosophical  judgment  and  sound  sense. 
His  talents  were  the  more  remarkable  if  we  consider  the 
character  of  his  contemporaries,  whose  philosophy  was  the 
fantastic  imaginings  of  Neo-Platonism,  the  exponent  of 
which,  Plotinus,  denied  that  Longinus  was  a  philosopher 
at  all,  declaring  that  he  was  a  mere  philologist,  since  he 
had  criticised  the  style  and  diction  of  Plato. 

In  style  he  was  clear,  lofty  and  rational,  and  surpassed 
in  oratorical  power  anything  existing  after  the  great  days 
of  Greek  oratory.  Of  all  his  works  only  a  portion  of  one 
exists,  this  being  a  treatise  On  the  Sublime. 

There  is  scarcely  any  work  in  existence  containing  so 
many  excellent  remarks  on  oratory,  poetry,  and  good  taste 
in  general;  or  equaling  it  in  sound  judgment,  liveliness 
of  style,  felicity  of  illustration,  and  general  good  sense. 


LONGINUS. 


255 


BY  WHAT  CIRCUMSTANCES  IS  THE  SUBLIME  PRODUCED? 

As  there  are  no  subjects  which  are  not  attended  by  some  ad¬ 
herent  circumstances,  an  accurate  and  judicious  choice  of  the  most 
suitable  of  these  circumstances,  and  an  ingenious  and  skillful  con¬ 
nection  of  them  into  one  body,  must  necessarily  produce  the  sub¬ 
lime.  For  wliat  by  the  judicious  choice,  and  what  by  the  skillful 
connection,  they  cannot  but  very  much  affect  the  -imagination. 

Sappho  is  an  instance  of  this,  who,  having  observed  the  anx¬ 
ieties  and  tortures  inseparable  to  jealous  love,  has  collected  and 
displayed  them  all  with  the  most  lively  exactness.  But  in  what 
particular  has  she  shown  her  excellence?  In  selecting  those  cir¬ 
cumstances  which  suit  best  with  her  object,  and  afterward  con¬ 
necting  them  together  with  so  much  art. 

“  Blest  as  the  Gods  methinks  is  he, 

The  enamoured  youth  who  sits  by  thee, 

Hearing  thy  silver  tones  the  while, 

Warmed  by  thy  love-exciting  smile. 

While  gazing  on  thee,  fair  and  blest, 

What  transports  heaved  my  glowing  breast, 

My  faltering  accents  soon  grew  weak, 

My  quivering  lips  refused  to  speak; 

My  voice  was  lost,  the  subtle  flame 
Of  love  pervaded  all  my  frame, 

O’er  my  filmed  eyes  a  dimness  hung, 

My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  rung; 

Cold  moisture  every  pore  distilled, 

My  frame  a  sudden  tremor  chilled, 

My  color  went,  I  felt  decay, 

I  sunk,  and  fell,  and  swooned  away.” 

Arc  you  not  amazed,  my  friend,  to  find  how,  in  the  same  mo¬ 
ment,  she  is  at  a  loss  for  her  soul,  her  body,  her  ears,  her  tongue, 
her  eyes,  her  color,  all  of  them  as  much  absent  from  her  as  if 
they  had  never  belonged  to  her?  And  what  contrary  effects  does 
she  feel  together?  She  glows,  she  chills,  she  raves,  she  reasons; 
now  she  is  in  tumults,  and  now  she  is  dying  away.  In  a  word 
she  seems  to  be  attacked  not  by  one  alone,  but  by  a  combination 
of  the  most  violent  passions. 


256 


THE  LITERATURE  -  OF  GREECE. 


THE  INFINITE  EXCELLENCE  OF  THE  GREAT  AUTHORS. 

With  regard,  therefore,  to  those  sublime  writers,  whose  flight, 
however  exalted,  never  fails  of  its  use  and  advantage,  we  must  add 
another  consideration.  Those,  their  inferior  beauties,  show  their 
authors  to  be  men,  but  the  sublime  makes  near  approaches  to  the 
height  of  God.  What  is  correct  and  virtuous  comes  off*  barely 
without  censure,  but  the  grand  and  the  elevated  command  admi¬ 
ration.  What  can  I  add  further?  One  exalted  and  sublime  senti¬ 
ment  in  these  noble  authors  makes  ample  amends  for  all  their 
defects.  And  what  is  most  remarkable,  were  the  errors  of  Homer, 
Demosthenes,  Plato,  and  the  rest  of  the  most  celebrated  authors, 
to  be  culled  carefully  out  and  thrown  together,  they  would  not 
bear  the  least  proportion  to  those  infinite,  those  inimitable  excel¬ 
lencies,  which  are  so  conspicuous  in  these  heroes  of  antiquity. 

And  for  this  reason  has  every  age  and  every  generation,  un¬ 
moved  by  partiality  and  unbiased  by  envy,  awarded  the  laurels 
to  those  great  masters,  which  flourished  still  green  and  unfading 
on  their  brows,  and  will  flourish 

“As  long  as  streams  in  silver  mazes  rove, 

Or  Spring  with  annual  green  renews  the  grove.” 


PART  II. 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

In  a  review  of  Roman  literature  we  must  start  from  a 
different  standpoint,  and  pursue  a  different  course,  than 
with  the  literature  of  the  Greeks.  The  latter  were  essen¬ 
tially  “  to  the  manner  horn.”  Their  literary  spirit  was 
native,  their  styles  and  modes  of  treatment  indigenous. 
Their  productions  were  a  birth,  not  a  transmigration  of 
soul,  into  the  world  of  books;  and  though  they  doubtless 
received  a  first  impulse  from  without,  all  subsequent  growth 
was  in  the  fertile  soil  of  their  own  genius. 

Not  so  with  the  Romans.  They  had  no  aboriginal  liter¬ 
ature.  When  they  had  conquered  leisure,  and  gained  time 
to  rest  and  to  think,  we  find  no  home  growth  springing  up 
in  their  minds.  They  began  to  think  in  Greek  forms,  and 
to  write  after  Greek  models.  Imitation,  not  creation,  was 
the  mode  of  their  intellectual  proceeding,  and  throughout 
their  whole  literary  history  the  same  condition  prevailed; 
they  originated  no  new  forms,  but  were  content  to  follow 
where  the  great  intellectual  race  of  the  past  had  trodden. 

With  so  many  romantic  legends  connected  with  their 
early  history,  they  were  favorably  circumstanced  for  the 
growth  of  a  native  poetry,  yet  how  different  is  their  record 

257 


258 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


in  this  respect  from  that  of  the  Greeks.  Everywhere 
through  the  prehistoric  gloom  that  envelops  the  early 
days  of  the  latter,  the  names  and  half-seen  forms  of  famous 
writers  loom  up,  like  giants  of  the  Brocken.  But  for  the 
first  five  centuries  of  its  existence  the  literary  life  of  the 
great  Roman  republic  is  a  blank,  nothing  being  produced 
but  some  half-barbarous  chants,  which  no  alchemist  could 
transform  into  the  gold  of  literature.  Not  until  Magna 
Grsecia  was  conquered  and  Sicily  overrun,  and  the  Roman 
mind  felt  the  impact  of  Grecian  art,  did  any  literary  spirit 
arise  in  the  Latin-speaking  race,  and  then  they  rather 
learned  the  art  than  caught  the  flame  of  poetry,  copying 
the  picture  presented  to  them  instead  of  limning  original 
Nature  herself. 

Even  Horace,  the  most  original  poet  which  Rome  pro¬ 
duced,  recommends  the  study  of  Greek  authors  as  an  indis¬ 
pensable  requisite,  and  shows  in  his  own  writings  the 
strong  influence  of  this  study.  An  imitator,  with  them, 
was  one  who  imitated  a  Roman  author.  Imitation  of  the 
Greeks  was,  in  a  measure,  an  implication  of  excellence.  In 
short,  the  history  of  Latin  literature  is  simply  the  history  of 
the  action  of  the  Greek  mind  upon  the  Roman. 

This  was,  of  course,  partly  due  to  their  admiration  for 
and  delight  in  Greek  literature,  which  was  carried  to  such 
an  extent  as  to  act  as  a  check  on  the  formation  of  any  dis¬ 
tinctive  Roman  style,  nothing  being  favorably  received  that 
had  not  in  it  a  flavor  of  the  Hellenic  modes  of  thought. 

But  lack  of  originality  cannot  be  fully  ascribed  to  this 
cause.  A  Dante,  a  Shakespere,  or  a  Milton,  would  have 
forced  recognition,  and  successfully  fought  down  the  pre¬ 
vailing  Greek  domination.  For  the  true  origin  of  this  con¬ 
dition  of  things  we  must  look  deeper,  and  will  find  it  to  be 
an  inevitable  result  of  the  difference  in  character  of  the 
two  races. 

The  Romans  were  devoted  to  war,  their  mental  vigor  all 


CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION.  259 


turned  in  this  direction.  Had  they  been  separated  in 
thought  between  the  pursuits  of  peace  and  the  art  of  war, 
they  would  never  have  conquered  the  world,  for  the  task 
they  had  to  perform  was  not  to  be  accomplished  by  a  di¬ 
vided  mental  force.  It  was  one  that  needed  all  the  ener¬ 
gies  of  a  strongly  intellectual  race.  The  natural  result  of 
their  mode  of  life  was  the  development  of  a  practical  spirit, 
an  ability  to  cope  with  the  hard  facts  of  existence,  and  to 
win  by  force  of  preparation  and  prevision,  instead  of  by 
blind  onslaught.  But  the  development  of  the  practical 
tends  to  dwarf  the  imagination  and  to  repress  enthusiasm, 
and  that  which  was  the  secret  of  the  success  of  the  Romans, 
as  a  conquering  nation,  stood  decidedly  in  the  way  of  their 
literary  eminence. 

Thought,  with  Rome,  was  not  indigenous.  It  was  an 
exotic,  transplanted  from  Greece.  Homer  was  native  to 
the  Hellenic  soil,  but  Virgil  borrowed  his  manner  from  the 
great  epicist.  Demosthenes  was  an  original  growth,  but 
Cicero  was  content  to  remain  a  pupil  of  the  Athenian 
orator.  Aristophanes  and  Menander  were  true  voices,  but 
Nsevius  and  Plautus  their  echoes.  And  indeed,  even  in  a 
more  direct  sense  than  this,  was  Roman  literature  founded 
upon  Greek  thought,  for  Livius  Andronicus,  the  first  name 
among  Roman  authors,  was  a  native  of  Magna  Grsecia,  and 
probably  of  Hellenic  extraction. 

The  main  element  of  difference  betwee  the  Romans  and 
the  Greeks  is  that  just  adverted  to.  Of  one  primitive  ori¬ 
gin,  of  equal  mental  vigor,  the  essential  differences  between 
their  conditions  and  habits  of  life  had  caused  their  intel¬ 
lects  to  develop  in  opposite  directions,  the  Roman  becoming 
intensely  practical,  the  Greek  warmly  enthusiastic  and  im¬ 
aginative.  The  distinction  is  visible  in  every  point  of  their 
histories.  It  is  visible  in  their  languages  —  the  soft,  liquid 
Greek  naturally  crystallizing  into  beautiful  forms,  and 
eminently  fitted  for  imaginative  expression;  the  Latin, 


260 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


hard,  solid  and  vigorous,  and  excellently  adapted  to  the 
active  and  the  practical.  It  is  even  visible  in  their  wars. 
The  military  institutions  of  Sparta  partook  of  this  imagi¬ 
native  character;  they  were  an  ideal  devotion  of  a  people 
to  war,  a  model  despotism  dedicated  to  Mars.  Alexander, 
in  his  wars,  was  full  of  the  Grecian  enthusiasm.  He  was 
led  forward  by  an  idea,  his  imagination  excited  by  the 
vision  of  a  world  prostrate  at  his  feet,  and,  like  a  river  that 
has  hurst  its  borders,  he  overflowed  all  Asia.  But  it  was 
by  no  such  rapid  onslaught  that  Rome  became  concjueror. 
She  moved  onward  with  the  practical  sense  and  decision  of 
a  steady  man  of  business.  Step  by  step  she  trod  down  the 
world,  assuring  herself  that  every  footprint  was  indelibly 
made  before  she  ventured  another  step  forward.  The  em¬ 
pire  of  Alexander  fell  to  pieces  of  its  own  weight  with  the 
death  of  the  great  conqueror.  The  empire  of  Rome  en¬ 
dured  long  after  the  valor  and  virtue  of  the  Roman  people 
had  died  out,  held  together  by  its  strong  links  of  forma¬ 
tion,  and  by  the  practical  political  ability  of  its  rulers. 

But  the  steady  man  of  business  is  not  likely  to  become  a' 
poet  or  a  philosopher,  and  this  practicality  stood  immovably 
in  the  way  of  any  strongly  original  literary  production  in 
the  eternal  city,  while  it  produced  a  strong  inclination  to 
the  study  and  imitation  of  the  great  preceding  models. 

In  summarizing  the  progress  of  Roman  literature  we 
find  the  first  five  centuries  of  the  republic  destitute  of  any¬ 
thing  worthy  of  the  name,  to  a  degree  which  few  nations 
have  ever  manifested,  and  none  that  made  any  approach  to 
the  power  and  grandeur  of  Rome.  During  this  period 
there  was  cultivated  a  sort  of  rude  songs  or  hymns,  which 
contained,  however,  not  even  a  germ  of  poetry.  Of  this 
style  of  composition  is  the  hymn  of  the  Fratres  Arvales 
(priests  of  agriculture),  which  was  dug  up  at  Rome  in 
1778,  and,  in  the  first  burst  of  enthusiasm,  referred  to  the 
age  of  Romulus. 


CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION.  261 


There  were,  probably,  also  sacred  songs  to  particular 
deities,  but  these  were  the  most  prosaic  priestly  perform¬ 
ances,  the  Roman  people  taking  none  of  that  vital  interest 
in  their  religious  services  so  warmly  displayed  by  the 
Greeks.  Besides  these  there  were  coarse  popular  carols, 
and  rude  triumphal  songs,  but  nothing  that  could  be  called 
literature;  certainly  not  a  remote  approach  to  the  epoch  of 
vanished  Grecian  song  which  culminated  in  Homer. 

About  the  end  of  they  fourth  century  a  sort  of  panto¬ 
mime,  probably  accompanied  by  extemporaneous  songs,  was 
brought  from  Etruria  to  Rome,  and  became  very  popular. 
There  mav  also  have  been  ballads  of  some  length.  Cicero 
mentions  a  poem  by  one  Appius  Claudius  Caecus,  who  flour¬ 
ished  in  the  fifth  century.  But  beyond  this  solitary  authen¬ 
tic  instance  of  any  regular  or  continued  poem  there  is 
nothing  but  the  most  feeble  beginnings  of  literature. 

Literature  had  its  origin  in  Rome,  as  we  have  said,  with 
the  conquest  of  Magna  Grsecia,  and  continued  to  flourish 
for  about  four  hundred  years,  though  all  valuable  produc¬ 
tions  are  embraced  within  a  much  shorter  period.  This 
age  of  literature  is  usually  divided  into  four  periods,  the 
first  of  which  extends  from  240  b.c.  to  the  death  of  Sulla, 
78  b.c.  During  this  epoch  the  drama  alone  was  ardently 
cultivated.  It  was  a  period  in  some  respects  similar  to  that 
succeeding  the  Persian  war  in  Greece,  and  to  the  Eliza¬ 
bethan  age  in  England.  An  excessive  love  of  dramatic 
entertainment  developed  itself  among  the  Roman  people, 
and  writers  of  genius  arose,  as  if  by  magic,  to  meet  the 
demand.  Of  these  the  two  names  of  most  note  are  those  of 
Plautus  and  Terence,  the  comedians,  though  a  number  of 
others,  whose  works  have  perished,  were  very  popular 
authors.  With  this  epoch,  though  theatrical  entertain¬ 
ments  continued  to  be  admired,  dramatic  genius  seemed 
to  die  out,  no  dramas  of  any  acting  value  being  afterward 
produced. 


262 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


To  this  epoch,  too,  we  must  refer  the  beginnings  of  his¬ 
tory,  rhetoric  and  poetry,  all  these  branches  of  literature 
being  cultivated,  though  no  names  of  special  eminence 
arose. 

The  second  period,  known  as  the  Golden  Age  of  Roman 
literature,  extended  from  the  death  of  Sulla  to  the  death  of 
Augustus,  14  A.D. 

Peace  had  now  spread  her  broad  wings  over  the  great 
Roman  empire,  splendor  marked  the  imperial  city,  and 
men’s  minds,  diverted  alike  from  the  pursuits  of  war  and  of 
politics,  turned  to  literature  as  the  third  great  safety-valve 
for  human  talent.  Under  the  fostering  care  of  Augustus, 
this  literary  spirit  expanded  to  its  utmost  height,  and  dis¬ 
played  a  vigor  and  merit  at  no  other  time  attained  among 
the  Roman  people.  The  Greek  intellectual  control  still 
continued,  but  the  Latin  authors  had  the  credit  of  rivaling, 
if  they  failed  to  exceed,  their  great  exemplars. 

Cicero,  among  the  first,  was  among  the  greatest  of  these 
authors.  He  began  to  flourish  in  an  age  when  imperialism 
had  not  yet  destroyed  the  soul  of  the  ancient  Roman  insti¬ 
tutions,  and  in  his  political  orations  proved  a  worthy  suc¬ 
cessor  to  the  renowned  Athenian  orators.  In  rhetoric, 
letters  and  philosophy  he  reached  an  equal  elevation,  being 
in  many  respects  the  widest  and  greatest  mind  which  Rome 
produced. 

The  authors  of  the  Augustan  age  achieved  their  eminence 

O  O 

chiefly  in  the  fields  of  poetry  and  history,  but,  in  their 
special  lines,  have  left  us  some  names  marked  by  the  most 
vigorous  genius.  Principal  among  these  are  Virgil,  the 
great  epic  poet;  Horace  and  Catullus,  the  lyrists;  Ovid,  the 
elegiac  and  didactic  poet;  and  the  historians  Livy,  C«sar, 
Sallust  and  Nepos. 

With  the  death  of  Augustus  commenced  a  long  “  Middle 
Age  ”  of  literary  darkness.  Under  the  series  of  fierce 
tyrants  who  now  misgoverned  the  Roman  empire,  when 


CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION.  263 


fear,  licentiousness  and  adulation  were  the  most  active 
forces  in  men’s  minds,  there  was  little  encouragement  to 
literature,  and  the  few  names  which  dimly  show  through 
the  darkness  have  left  but  slight  meritorious  marks  of  their 
existence. 

With  the  later  beneficent  emperors  a  new  literary  epoch 
commenced,  that  known  as  the  Silver  Age,  extending  to  the 
death  of  Adrian,  138  a.d.  The  classic  elegance  of  manner 
had  died  out,  however,  public  taste  required  a  more  dif¬ 
fused,  rhetorical  style,  and  few  authors  succeeded  in  ap¬ 
proaching  the  eminence  of  their  talented  predecessors.  The 
most  meritorious  writers  were  Tacitus,  the  historian;  the 
elder  Pliny,  the  naturalist;  Persius  and  Juvenal,  the  satir¬ 
ists;  Martial,  the  epigrammatist;  Lucan,  the  epic  poet;  and 
the  younger  Pliny,  the  epistolary  writer. 

The  fourth  period  extends  from  the  death  of  Adrian  to 
the  overthrow  of  the  Western  Empire,  in  476  a.d.  It  em¬ 
braces  few  names  of  any  note,  and  none  to  be  compared  in 
literary  worth  with  the  great  writers  of  the  preceding 
epochs.  In  fact,  after  the  beginning  of  the  second  century 
a.d.,  there  was  scarcely  a  writer  born  who  attained  to  any 
marked  literary  prominence,  and  the  most  valuable  period 
of  Roman  literature  is  even  shorter  than  that  of  the  Greek, 
as  a  century  will  nearly  contain  it.  The  work  produced 
during  this  epoch  is,  as  we  have  said,  an  echo  of  the  voice 
of  Athens,  and,  like  all  echoes,  lacks  something  of  the  clear 
ring  of  the  original  tone. 


THE  ROMAN  DRAMATISTS. 


Unlike  the  early  mental  productions  of  any  people  whose 
literature  is  of  native  growth,  the  literary  career  of  Rome 
begins  with  the  drama.  This  is  readily  accounted  for  by 
the  fact  that  it  began  with  direct  use  of  the  Greek  plays, 
without  even  an  effort  to  disguise  or  hide  the  literary  theft. 

Liv'ius  Androni'cus,  the  first  to  introduce  the  drama  to 
the  citizens  of  Rome,  was  a  native  of  Magna  Graecia,  that 
settlement  on  the  Italian  shores  which  retained  so  much  of 
the  old  Attic  flavor  and  talent.  He  is  said  to  have  been 
taken  prisoner  and  brought  as  a  slave  to  Rome,  where  he 
repaid  his  enslavers  by  establishing  the  theatre  after  the 
Greek  manner,  and  introducing  plays  directly  adapted  from 
Greek  authors.  His  earliest  play  was  produced  about  a 
vear  after  the  close  of  the  first  Punic  war,  being  ascribed 
to  240  b.c. 

Like  other  dramatists  in  the  primitive  days  of  theatrical 
performances,  Andronicus  was  an  actor,  and  for  a  consider¬ 
able  time  the  sole  performer,  of  his  own  pieces.  Afterward 
he  employed  a  boy  to  declaim  the  parts  which  required 
much  animation,  while  he  himself  made  the  proper  gesticu¬ 
lations.  The  peculiar  custom  thus  originated  became 
usual  in  the  Roman  theatre,  the  final  method  being  for  the 
comedian  to  gesticulate  to  the  declamation  of  others  in  all 
the  monologues,  and  pronounce  nothing  himself  but  the 
verses  of  the  dialogue;  a  custom  seemingly  calculated  to 
take  all  naturalness  out  of  their  performances.  Yet,  with 


THE  ROMAN  DRAMATISTS. 


265 


their  masks,  and  their  distance  from  the  spectators,  it  may 
have  been  difficult  to  tell  who  was  speaking. 

Andronicus  produced  both  tragedies  and  comedies,  but 
only  the  titles  of  them  remain,  and  these  indicate  that  they 
were  all  derived,  perhaps  directly  translated,  from  Greek 
originals.  The  longest  remnant  extant  of  his  works  consists 

O  O 

of  but  four  lines.  Cicero  says  that  his  plays  were  hardly 
worth  a  second  reading.  Another  service  which  he  rendered 
to  his  new  countrymen  was  the  translation  of  the  Odyssey 
into  Latin  verse. 

The  next  dramatist  whose  name  appears  was  Cne'ius 
Nae'vius,  his  earliest  play  being  produced  in  the  year  235 
b.c.  His  works  are  lost,  but  they  appear  to  have  been  all 
translated  or  adapted  from  Euripides  and  other  Greek 
authors.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  better  <^omic  than  tragic 
artist.  Cicero  gives  some  specimens  of  his  jokes,  and 
appears  to  have  highly  enjoyed  them,  but  they  have  a  very 
poor  flavor  to  our  modern  taste. 

The  principal  effort  of  Naevius  was  to  introduce  comedies 
in  the  vein  of  Aristophanes  on  the  Roman  stage,  and  in  this 
he  met  with  a  signal  failure.  He  lampooned  the  elder 
Scipio,  who,  however,  took  no  notice  of  him.  But  others 
did  not  bear  his  biting  satire  so  quietly,  and  he  was  thrown 
into  prison.  Here  he  wrote  some  plays  intended  as  peace 
offerings,  and  was  released.  The  spirit  of  the  old  Athenian 
comedy  was  too  strong  in  him,  however,  to  be  resisted,  and 
he  soon  found  new  subjects  for  ridicule.  He  was  finally 
driven  from  the  city  by  the  enemies  he  had  thus  made. 
With  him  ended  the  only  effort  to  reproduce  the  person¬ 
alities  of  the  old  comedy.  It  was  not  adapted  to  the  Roman 
temper. 

Naevius  also  produced  a  work  called  the  Cyprian  Iliad, 
which,  however,  was  a  direct  translation  from  the  Greek. 
He  wrote,  besides,  a  metrical  chronicle  of  the  first  Punic 
war,  which  commences  with  the  flight  of  iEne'as  from  Car- 
12 


266 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


thage,  and  is  full  of  mythological  machinery.  It  is  praised 
by  Cicero,  but  only  a  few  lines  remain. 

The  next  author  of  note  was  En'nius,  a  native  of  Cala'- 
bria,  born  239  b.c.  He  was  called,  in  later  times,  the  father 
of  Roman  song;  and  to  judge  from  the  existing  fragments 
of  his  works,  he  greatly  surpassed  his  predecessors  in  poet¬ 
ical  genius,  and  in  the  art  of  versification. 

He  professed  to  have  imitated  Homer,  and  even  declared 
that  the  soul  and  genius  of  the  great  Greek  artist  had 
revived  in  him  through  the  medium  of  a  peacock,  under  the 
Pythagorean  idea  of  transmigration  of  souls.  His  works, 
however,  are  chiefly  imitations  of  the  Greek  dramatists; 
and  from  their  titles,  and  remaining  fragments,  seem  rather 
direct  translations  from  Sophocles  and  Euripides  than 
originals. 

Roman  audiences  liked  their  comedy,  and  probably  their 
tragedy  also,  to  be  full  of  the  action  and  bustle  of  a  compli¬ 
cated  fable;  and  their  writers  appear  to  have  gratified  them 
in  this  by  employing  the  most  active  of  Greek  plays,  or  even 
by  condensing  two  Greek  dramas  into  one  Roman  adapta¬ 
tion. 

Ennius  seems  to  have  had  little  originality  as  a  tragic 
artist.  The  satires,  too,  which  he  produced,  were  probably 
copied  from  Tuscan  or  Oscan  writers.  His  greatest  work  is 
his  poetic  Annals,  or  Metrical  Chronicle,  of  which  a  con¬ 
siderable  portion  remains.  It  celebrates  Roman  history 
from  the  earliest  times  down,  in  a  sort  of  versified  news¬ 
paper  style,  and  is  written  with  much  occasional  beauty, 
but  displays  no  invention  or  imagination,  and  gives  us  a 
picture  of  the  Roman  Consuls  fighting  over  again  the  old 
Homeric  battles. 

The  remaining  names  of  importance  among  the  Roman 
comedians  are  those  of  Plautus,  Csecil'ius  Statius,  and  Ter¬ 
ence.  Of  these,  however,  only  the  first  and  last  have  any 
plays  existing;  Caecilius,  whom  Cicero  praises  as  the  best  of 


PLAUTUS. 


267 


Koman  comedians,  being  represented  by  a  long  list  of  frag¬ 
ments,  but  no  works  of  any  extent.  After  these  writers 
some  half  dozen  other  names,  indicated  to  us  by  a  few  lines 
only,  close  the  list  of  comic  authors. 

With  these  Roman  comedians  were  contemporary  two 
tragedians,  of  considerable  original  power,  and  of  great 
popularity  with  their  countrymen.  These  were  Pacu'vius 
and  At'tius,  the  latter  ‘'somewhat  later  in  time,  being  born 
about  170  b.c.  These  authors,  like  the  preceding  trage¬ 
dians,  copied  largely  from  the  Greek,  though  making  many 
changes  in  the  plots  and  language  of  the  Greek  plays.  The 
fragments  of  their  works  which  remain  are  full  of  new  and 
original  thoughts. 

O  O  f  • 

We  have  nothing  left  of  their  writings  except  some  short 
passages,  and  the  titles  of  a  portion  of  them.  With  Attius 
the  Roman  drama  may  be  said  to  close.  Tragedies  were 
written  after  his  time,  but  none  that  achieved  success  on  the 
stage. 

In  fact  the  social  condition  of  Rome  after  that  period, 
and  the  love  of  its  citizens  for  the  bloody  tragedy  of  the 
amphitheatre,  must  have  exercised  a  most  depressing  influ¬ 
ence  on  the  further  development  of  the  drama,  though  the 
works  of  the  old  comedians  long  continued  popular. 

PLAU'TUS. 

BORN  ABOUT  254  B.C. 

T.  Maccius  Plautus,  the  greatest  comic  poet  of  Rome,  was 
a  native  of  Sar'sina,  a  village  of  Umbria.  His  name  signi¬ 
fies  splay-foot,  a  common  characteristic  of  the  Umbrians. 
We  are  in  ignorance  of  his  early  life,  and  can  only  surmise 
that  he  came  to  Rome  while  young,  acquiring  there  a 
complete  knowledge  of  the  Latin  language,  and  becoming 
familiar  with  Greek  literature.  He  probably  was  never 
made  a  full  citizen  of  Rome. 


268 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


His  earliest  employment  was  at  the  theatres.  What  this 
employment  was  we  are  not  aware,  but  it  was  sufficiently 
lucrative  to  enable  him  to  leave  Rome  and  start  some  busi¬ 
ness  on  his  own  account.  All  we  know  about  this  business 
is  that  he  failed  in  it,  lost  all  his  money,  and  returned  to 
Rome,  where  he  was  obliged  to  earn  a  living  by  turning  a 
hand  mill,  the  ordinary  punishment  of  worthless  slaves. 

While  thus  employed  he  composed  three  plays,  which  he 
sold  to  the  managers  of  the  public  games.  The  proceeds 
from  these  released  him  from  his  uncongenial  labor.  This 
period,  about  224  b.c.,  may  be  fixed  as  the  commencement 
of  his  literary  career,  and  from  this  time  forward  he  con¬ 
tinued  to  produce  plays  with  great  fertility,  until  184  b.c., 
when  he  died,  in  his  seventieth  year. 

There  were  in  all  one  hundred  and  thirty  plays  attrib¬ 
uted  to  him,  but  Roman  critics  considered  the  most  of  these 
as  spurious,  limiting  the  number  of  genuine  plays  extant  in 
the  last  years  of  the  Republic  to  twenty-one,  of  which  un¬ 
doubted  plays  we  are  fortunate  enough  to  possess  twenty. 
The  text  of  these,  however.,  is  in  such  a  defective  and  cor¬ 
rupt  state  that  it  is  impossible  to  read  them  with  full 
appreciation  and  comfort. 

Plautus  availed  himself  very  freely  of  the  works  of 
Greek  authors.  And  as  Naevius  had  found  it  dangerous 
to  imitate  the  old  comedy  of  Athens,  Plautus  turned  his 
attention  to  the  new,  making  Menander  his  model,  and 
adapting  freely  his  plots,  as  also  those  of  Hiphilus,  Phi¬ 
lemon  and  others.  Yet  while  using  no  effort  to  conceal 
this  literary  piracy,  and,  in  fact,  closely  preserving  the 
tone  of  the  Greek  drama,  he  always  made  his  characters 
distinctively  Roman,  and  won  the  popular  sympathies  by 
his  keen  appreciation  of  life  and  manners  in  his  adopted 
city. 

It  was  not  for  the  educated  and  aristocratic  circles  that 
he  wrote,  but  for  the  people  at  large,  and  he  met  their 


PLAUTUS. 


269 


fancy  by  the  broad  humor  and  unrefined  taste  that  charac¬ 
terize  his  plays,  and  by  his  frequent  use  of  coarse  inuendo. 
He  still  more  definitely  appealed  to  their  demands,  how¬ 
ever,  by  the  rapid  and  incessant  action  which  his  plays 
possess,  and  by  the  skill  with  which  his  plots  are  con¬ 
structed.  Careless  and  inharmonious  as  his  language  may 
be,  his  comedies  always  teem  with  life,  bustle  and  surprise. 
Unexpected  situations  are  constantly  developed,  while  they 
are  everywhere  overlaid  with  sprightly,  sparkling  raillery, 
which  must  have  kept  his  audiences  in  a  fever  of  enjoy¬ 
ment.  They  allowed  no  time  for  respite,  no  interval  where 
dullness  might  creep  in,  but  hurried  from  incident  to  inci¬ 
dent,  from  scene  to  scene,  from  jest  to  jest,  with  a  rapidity 
and  vivacity  which  few,  even  of  modern  dramatists,  equal. 
The  modern  drama,  indeed,  has  made  frequent  use  of'  his 
plots. 

He  wrote  prologues  to  his  plays,  in  the  Greek  manner, 
these  being  sometimes  very  amusing.  The  Roman  theatre, 
in  fact,  was  closely  imitated  from  the  Greek,  all  the  features 
in  regard  to  scenery,  masks,  dresses,  etc.,  being  retained. 
Conventional  colors  and  modes  of  dressing  were  used  to 
designate  certain  classes  or  nationalities;  and  plays  were 
occasionally  produced  with  the  greatest  splendor  of  scenery 
and  appointments. 

Plautus  was  immensely  popular  among  the  Romans,  his 
works  holding  possession  of  the  stage  until  a  late  period  in 
the  empire,  and  being  viewed  with  admiration  by  such 
critics  as  Varro  and  Cicero.  This  admiration  has  extended 
down  to  modern  times. 

We  give  an  extract  from  the  Aulularia,  or  The  Miser ,  a 
very  amusing  play,  in  which  a  miser  finds  a  pot  of  gold, 
and  hides  it  with  the  greatest  care.  He  is  in  constant 
dread  of  its  being  discovered,  moves  it  from  place  to  place, 
and  accuses  every  one  who  comes  near  his  hiding-places  of 
intent  to  rob  him,  He  has  promised  his  daughter  in  mar* 


270 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


riage  to  an  old  man  named  Musidorus,  whose  main  recom¬ 
mendation  is  that  he  asks  for  no  dowry.  Cooks  are  sent 
to  the  miser’s  house  to  prepare  the  wedding  supper,  but 
he,  finding  them  there,  and  too  near  his  precious  gold, 
drives  them  headlong  forth.  He  finds  a  new  hiding-place 
for  it,  but  discovering  a  slave,  named  Strob'ilus,  close  by  his 
treasure,  he  drags  him  forth  and  searches  him.  The  slave, 
out  of  revenge,  watches  him,  and  steals  the  gold,  which  he 
gives  to  his  young  master,  who  is  the  lover  of  the  miser’s 
daughter.  The  conclusion  of  the  play  is  lost,  but  it  is  prob¬ 
able  that  the  young  lover  exchanged  the  pot  of  gold  for  his 
sweetheart. 

This  comedy  has  been  frequently  made  use  of  by  dra¬ 
matists,  and  particularly  by  Moliere,  whose  best  play, 
V Avare ,  is  founded  upon  it,  and  in  many  respects  far 
surpasses  it. 

We  give  first,  however,  the  curious  prologue  to  The 
Treasure,  which  shows,  by  a  very  plain  avowal,  where 
the  author  obtained  his  plot. 

Enter  Luxury  and  Poverty. 

Luxury.  Follow  me,  daughter,  that  you  may  perform  your  office. 

Poverty.  I  do  follow,  but  am  ignorant  where  will  our  journey  end. 

Lux.  It  is  here.  Behold,  this  is  the  house.  Go  in. 

[Exit.  Poverty. 

Lux.  (To  the  spectators.)  Lest  any  of  you  be  lost  in  error,  I’ll  in 
brief  conduct  you  in  the  right  road,  provided  you  will  hear.  First, 
then,  who  I  am,  and  who  she  is  that  entered  here,  I’ll  tell,  if  you 
are  attent.  Plautus  has  given  me  the  name  of  Luxury;  the  other  is 
my  daughter,  Poverty.  Now  at  my  impulse  why  she  entered  here, 
listen,  and  be  all  attention  while  I  tell.  There  is  a  certain  youth 
dwells  in  this  house,  who  by  my  aid  has  squandered  his  estate. 
Since  then  for  my  support  there  is  nothing  left,  I  have  given  him 
my  daughter  whom  to  live  with.  As  for  our  play,  expect  not  I  shall 
tell  the  plot.  The  old  men  who  are  coming  hither  will  ope  the 
matter  to  you.  In  the  Greek  it  is  named  The  Treasure,  which  Phi¬ 
lemon  wrote.  Our  poet  this  translated,  calling  it  Trinummus,  and 
this  name  he  begs  may  stand.  No  more;  farewell;  be  silent,  and 
attend.  Exit. 


PLAUTUS. 


271 


THE  MISER.  ACT  4,  SCENE  5. 

Eu'clio  dragging  out  Strob'ilus. 

Euclio.  Out,  earthworm,  out !  who,  but  a  moment  past, 

Crept  under  ground,  wert  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

But  now  thou  dost  appear  it’s  over  with  thee. 

Rascal,  I’ll  he  thy  death. 

Strobitu x  What  a  plague  ails  you? 

What  business  have  you,  old  wretch,  with  me? 

Why  do  you  lug  me  so  ?  What  makes  you  beat  me  ? 

Eu.  D’ye  ask?  you  whipping-stock,  you  villainous  thief! 
Not  one  alone,  but  all  the  thieves  together. 

Stro.  What  have  I  stole  of  yours? 

Eu.  Restore  it  to  me. 

Stro.  Restore  it?  What? 

Eu.  D’ye  ask? 

Stro.  I’ve  taken  nothing. 

Eu.  Come,  give  me  what  you’ve  got. 

Stro.  What  are  you  at? 

Eu.  What  am  I  at? — You  shall  not  carry  it  off. 

Stro.  What  is  it  you  would  have? 

Eu.  Come,  lay  it  down. 

Stro.  Why,  we  have  laid  no  wager  that  I  know  of. 

Eu.  Come,  come,  no  joking;  lay  it  down,  I  say. 

Stro.  What  must  I  lay  down?  Tell  me.  Name  it  to  me. 

I  have  not  touched  or  taken  anything. 

Eu.  Show  me  your  hands. 

Stro.  Here  they  are. 

Eu.  Show  them  me. 

Stro.  Why  here  they  are. 

Eu.  I  see. — Show  me  your  third  hand. 

Stro.  {aside.)  Sure  the  old  fellow  is  crazy.  He’s  bewitched. 
I  pray  thee  now  don’t  use  me  very  ill. 

Eu.  Very  ill,  truly,  not  to  have  you  hanged; 

Which  I  will  do  if  now  you  don’t  confess. 

Stro.  Don’t  confess  what? 

Eu.  What  you  did  take  from  hence. 

Stro.  May  I  be  cursed  if  I  took  anything 
Belonging  to  you,  or  desired  it,  I. 

Eu.  Come,  come,  pull  off  your  cloak. 

Stro.  ( Pulling  it  off.)  Just  as  you  please. 


272 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Eu.  You  may  have  it  liicl  underneath  your  clothes. 

Stro.  Search  there. 

Eu.  (Aside.)  Rogue!  How  civil  he  is, 

That  I  may  not.  suspect.  I  know  his  tricks 
Once  more  show  me  your  right  hand. 

Stro.  Here  it  is. 

Eu.  Well,  now  show  me  your  left. 

Stro.  Here  they  are,  both. 

Eu.  Come,  I’ll  search  you  no  further;  give  it  me. 

Stro.  What  must  I  give  you? 

Eu.  Psha!  Don’t  trifle  with  me. 

You’ve  certainly  got  it. 

Stro.  Got?  Got  what? 

Eu.  So  you  would  have  me  name  it;  but  I  will  not. 

Restore  whatever  you  have  got  of  mine. 

Stro.  You’re  mad.  Sure  you  have  searched  me  at  your  pleasure, 
And  you  have  found  nothing  of  yours  upon  me. 

Eu.  Stay!  stay!  Who  was  that  other  with  you  yonder? 
(Aside)  I’m  ruined!  He’s  at  work  within;  and  if 
I  let  him  go  this  other  will  escape. — 

I’ve  searched  him,  it  is  true,  and  he  has  nothing. 

(To  Strobilus.)  Go  where  you  will,  and  may  the  Gods  confound  you ! 
Stro.  I’m  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  wishes. 

Eu.  I’ll  in;  and  if  I  light  on  your  companion 
I’ll  strangle  him.  Out  of  my  sight!  Begone! 

Stro.  I  go. 

Eu.  And  never  let  me  see  you  more.  [Exit. 

Stro.  (Alone.)  I’d  rather  die  the  worst  of  deaths  than  now 
Not  lay  an  ambush  for  this  old  man’s  money. 

He  will  not  dare  to  hide  it  here,  I  fancy, 

But  he  will  bring  it  out  with  him,  and  change 
Its  situation.  Hush,  the  door  is  opening, 

And  out  he  comes, —  the  old  hunks  with  his  treasure. 

I’ll  run  before  him,  climb  into  a  tree, 

And  watch  where  the  old  miser  hides  his  wealth. 

My  master  bade  me  wait  here;  but  no  matter. 

I’ll  risk  mishap  in  quest  of  such  advantage. — Thornton. 


TERENCE. 


273 


TER'ENCE. 

BORN  195  B.C. 

Publius  Teren'tius  Afer,  the  second  of  the  extant  Roman 
comedians,  was  a  native  of  Carthage,  and  was  horn,  or  be¬ 
came,  the  slave  of  a  Roman  senator,  P.  Teren'tius  Luca'nus. 
This  nobleman,  out  of  regard  for  the  beauty  and  ability  of 
his  slave,  highly  educated  him,  and  finally  gave  him  his 
freedom. 

His  first  play,  the  Andrian ,  written  when  he  was  twenty- 
seven  years  of  age,  was  highly  successful,  and  gave  its 
author  a  standing  at  once  in  the  best  Roman  society,  where 
his  engaging  address  made  him  a  special  favorite.  Among 
his  chief  patrons  was  the  younger  Scipio,  with  whom  he 
lived  in  great  intimacy.  After  some  years  thus  spent  at 
Rome  he  went  to  Greece,  where  he  translated  one' hundred 
and  eight  of  Menander’s  comedies.  He  never  returned, 
and  is  supposed  to  have  died  in  his  thirty-sixth  or  thirty- 
seventh  vear.  Six  of  his  comedies  are  extant,  and  these 
may  be  all  he  ever  wrote. 

Of  the  Andrian ,  the  earliest  and,  perhaps,  the  most  in¬ 
teresting  and  affecting  of  all  his  plays,  the  following  curi¬ 
ous  story  is  told:  On  offering  his  comedy  to  the  theatrical 
authorities  he  was  referred  by  them  to  Caecilius,  then  at 
the  height  of  his  popularity  as  a  comedian.  The  young 
author  was  introduced  to  the  celebrated  playwright  while 
the  latter  was  at  supper,  and  was  seated  on  a  low  stool,  as 
a  person  of  no  consequence.  The  youthful,  poorly  dressed, 
and  probably  timid  applicant  presented  no  very  promising 
aspect  to  the  experienced  writer,  and  the  latter,  with  little 
expectation,  asked  him  to  read  the  opening  of  his  play. 
He  had  not  got  beyond  a  few  lines,  however,  before  Cae- 
cilius  stopped  him  and  invited  him  to  share  his  couch  and 
his  supper.  As  he  went  on  the  attention  of  the  veteran 
playwright  became  more  and  more  engrossed,  and  the  read- 
12* 


274 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


ing  finished  with  his  unqualified  admiration  and  indorse¬ 
ment.  This  story  is,  however,  of  doubtful  authenticity. 

The  plays  of  Terence  are  marked  by  the  greatest  purity 
of  language,  dividing  the  honors  in  this  respect  with  the 
works  of  Cicero  and  Caesar.  In  style  they  are  very  grace¬ 
ful,  and  display  the  moral  elevation  of  a  thoroughly  culti¬ 
vated  mind.  He  could  not  endure  anything  approaching 
grossness,  or  the  delineation  of  low  vices.  His  comedies 
are  not  the  equal  of  those  of  Plautus  in  life,  bustle  and 
humor,  but  display  much  more  elegance  and  refinement  of 
taste,  and  are  also  superior  in  consistency  of  plot  and  char¬ 
acter,  in  tenderness,  wit  and  metrical  skill. 

They  contain  many  soliloquies,  in  which  their  author 
displays  the  highest  ability  in  telling  his  story,  and  are 
marked  by  frequent  just  reflections  and  by  a  wit  that  is 
never  forced.  He  is  said  to  have  lived  and'died  in  poverty, 
but  it  does  not  seem  as  if  he  could  have  been  very  poor,  as 
he  certainly  received  large  sums  of  money  for  his  plays. 
His  works,  like  those  of  Plautus,  have  been  studied  as 
models  by  many  modern  playwrights.  The  names  of  the 
extant  comedies  are  Andrian,  Hetfi/ra,  Heautontimoroii  - 
menos,  Eiinu' elms,  Phor'mio  and  Adel'phi. 

We  extract  the  following  scene  from  the  Andrian.  The 
main  points  in  the  play  are  as  follows:  Pam'philus,  the  son 
of  Simo,  becomes  attached  to  a  girl  of  questionable  char¬ 
acter.  Simo,  meanwhile,  had  betrothed  him  to  Philu'mena, 
the  daughter  of  Chre'mes.  Simo  discovers  his  son’s  passion, 
but  pretends  that  the  marriage  shall  still  take  place,  in 
order  to  test  the  young  man’s  true  sentiments.  In  this 
difficulty  Pamphilus  applies  to  Davus,  a  cunning  and  clever 
slave,  who  advises  him  to  offer  no  opposition. 

On  the  strength  of  this  apparent  yielding  of  his  son 
Simo  changes  his  plans,  arranges  that  the  marriage  shall 
take  place  at  once,  and  thus  catches  the  plotters  in  their 
own  trap.  Pamphilus  is  in  despair,  and  is  inclined  to  re- 


TERENCE. 


275 


venge  himself  on  Davus  for  his  unlucky  advice.  But  the 
latter,  by  a  shrewd  trick,  induced  Chremes  to  refuse  his 
assent  to  the  marriage. 

O 


At  this  juncture  Chremes  discovers  that  Glyce'rium,  the 


beloved 


own  daughter,  whom  he  had 


formerly  intrusted  to  the  care  of  his  brother,  now  dead. 
Pamphilus  thus  finally  obtains  Glycerium  as  his  wife,  and 
the  other  daughter  is  given  to  a  young  lover,  who  has 
hitherto  pressed  his  suit  in  vain. 

The  plot  of  this  comedy,  as  Terence  candidly  informs 
his  hearers,  is  taken  from  two  plays  of  Menander,  which 
have  been  skillfully  welded  into  one. 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN.  ACT  3,  SCENE  6. 
Enter  Davus,  from  the  house  of  Svrno, 


Dams.  I  was  coming  to  you. 

Simo.  Why,  what  is  the  matter? 

Dav.  Why  is  not  the  bride  sent  for?  It  is  now  growing  late 
in  the  day. 

Sim.  Do  you  hear  me?  I  have  been  for  some  time  not  a  little 
apprehensive  of  you,  Davus,  lest  you  should  do  that  which  the 
common  class  of  servants  is  in  the  habit  of  doing,  namely,  im¬ 
posing  upon  me  by  your  artifices. 

Dav.  What!  I  do  that? 

Sim.  I  fancied  so;  and,  therefore,  fearing  that,  I  concealed  from 
you  what  I  shall  now  mention. 

Dav.  What  ? 

Sim.  You  shall  know;  for  now  I  almost  feel  confidence  in  you. 

Dav.  Have  you  found  out  at  last  what  sort  of  a  person  I  am  ? 

Sim.  The  marriage  was  not  to  have  taken  place. 

Dav.  How?  Not  to  leave  taken  place? 

Sim.  But  I  was  making  pretense,  that  I  might  test  you  all. 

Dav.  {Affecting  surprise.)  What  is  it  you  tell  me? 

Sim.  Such  is  the  fact. 

Dav.  Only  see;  I  was  not  able  to  discover  that.  Dear  me, 
what  a  cunning  contrivance! 

Sim.  Listen  to  this.  Just  as  I  ordered  you  to  go  from  here 
into  the  house,  he  {pointing  to  Chremes)  most  opportunely  met  me, 

Dav.  {Aside.)  Ha!  Are  we  undone,  then? 


276 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Sim.  I  told  him  what  you  just  now  told  me. 

Dav.  (Aside.)  Why,  what  am  I  to  hear? 

Sim.  I  begged  him  to  give  his  daughter,  and  with  difficulty 
I  prevailed  upon  him. 

Dav.  (Aside.)  Truly  ruined! 

Sim.  (Overhearing  him  speaking.)  Eh  !  What  was  it  you  said  ? 

Dav.  Extremely  well  done,  I  say. 

Sim.  There  is  no  delay  on  his  part  now. 

Ghremes.  I’ll  go  home  at  once.  I’ll  tell  her  to  make  due  prep¬ 
aration,  and  bring  back  word  here.  [Exit. 

Sim.  Now  I  do  entreat  you,  Davus,  since  you  have  yourself 
brought  about  this  marriage  for  me - 

Dav.  I  myself,  indeed! 

Sim.  Do  your  best  still  to  reform  my  son. 

Dav.  Troth,  I’ll  do  it  with  all  care. 

Sim.  Do  it  now,  while  his  mind  is  agitated. 

Dav.  You  may  be  at  ease. 

Sim.  Come  then;  where  is  lie  just  now? 

Dav.  A  wonder  if  he  is  not  at  home. 

Sim.  I’ll  go  to  him;  and  what  I  have  been  telling  you  I’ll  tell 
him  as  well.  [Exit. 

Dav.  (To  himself.)  I’m  a  lost  man!  What  reason  is  there  why 
I  should  not  take  my  departure  straightway  for  the  mill?  There 
is  no  room  left  for  supplicating.  I  have  upset  everything  now. 
I  have  deceived  my  master,  I  have  plunged  my  master’s  son  into 
a  marriage.  1  have  been  the  cause  of  its  taking  place  this  very 
day,  without  his  hoping  for  it,  and  against  the  wish  of  Pampliilus. 
Here  is  cleverness  for  you!  But  if  I  had  kept  myself  quiet  no 
mischief  would  have  happened.  (Starting.)  But  see!  I  espy  him. 
I  am  truly  undone!  Would  that  there  were  some  spot  here  for  me 
from  which  I  might  this  instant  pitch  myself  headlong.  (Stands 
apart.) 

Enters  Pamphilus ,  in  haste ,  from  Simo's  house. 

Pam.  Where  is  he?  The  villain  who  this  day - .  I  am  ruined, 

and  I  confess  that  this  has  justly  befallen  me,  for  being  such  a  dolt, 
so  devoid  of  sense;  that  I  should  have  intrusted  my  fortunes  to  a 
frivolous  slave!  I  am  suffering  the  reward  of  my  folly.  Still  lie 
shall  never  get  off  from  me  unpunished  for  1  li is. 

Dav.  (Apart.)  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  shall  be  safe  in  future, 
if  for  the  present  I  get  clear  of  this  mishap. 

Pam.  But  what  now  am  I  to  say  to  my  father?  Am  I  to  deny 


TERENCE. 


277 


that  I  am  ready,  who  have  just  promised  to  marry  V  With  what 
effrontery  could  I  presume  to  do  that?  I  know  not  what  to  do 
with  myself. 

Dav.  (Apart.)  Nor  I  with  myself,  and  yet  I  am  giving  all  due 
attention  to  it.  I  will  tell  him  that  I  will  devise  something,  in 
order  that  I  may  procure  some  respite  in  this  dilemma. 

Pam.  (Catching  sight  of  him.)  Oho! 

Dav.  (Apart.)  1  am  seen. 

Pam.  (Sneeringly)  How  now,  good  sir,  what  are  you  about? 
Do  you  see  how  dreadfully  I  am  hampered  by  your  devices? 

Dav.  Still,  I  will  soon  extricate  you. 

Pam.  You  extricate  me? 

Dav.  Assuredly,  Pampliilus. 

Pam.  As  you  have  just  done,  I  suppose. 

Dav  Why,  no  better,  I  trust. 

Pam.  What,  am  I  to  believe  you,  you  scoundcl  ?  You,  indeed, 
make  good  a  matter  that  is  all  embarrassment  and  ruin!  Just  see 

in  whom  1  have  been  placing  reliance - .  You  this  day,  from  a 

most  happy  state,  have  been  and  plunged  me  into  a  marriage.  Did 
not  I  say  that,  this  would  be  the  case? 

Dav.  You  did  say  so. 

Pam.  Wliat  do  you  deserve? 

Dav.  The  cross.  But  allow  me  a  little  time  to  recover  myself. 
I  will  soon  hit  upon  something. 

Pam.  Ah  me!  not  to  have  the  leisure  to  inflict  punishment  on 
you  as  I  desire!  For  the  present  conjuncture  warns  me  to  take 
precautions  for  myself,  not  to  be  taking  vengeance  on  you.  [Ex. 

Riley. 


I 


THE  EARLY  ROMAN  POETRY. 


Poetry  is  the  first  form  of  the  literature  of  all  nations 
who  develop  a  literary  spirit  of  their  own.  This  spirit 
Rome  cannot  be  said  to  have  possessed,  in  those  primitive 
days  of  her  history  in  which  men  first  begin  to  weave 
their  thoughts  info  ordered  compositions.  We  have  already 
seen  that  she  was  in  possession,  to  a  certain  extent,  of  carols, 
songs  and  hymns,  but  that  these  metrical  productions  were 
rude  in  form,  and  unworthy  of  the  name  of  literature. 

When  Pome  reached  that  period  in  her  history  in  which 
the  works  of  Greek  authors  forced  themselves  on  her  atten¬ 
tion,  her  character  as  a  nation  was  formed,  and  her  tastes 
were  not  at  all  likely  to  be  those  of  a  primitive  epoch.  As 
we  have  already  perceived,  the  drama  was  the  earliest 
form  in  which  this  borrowed  literature  appealed  to  the 
minds  of  her  citizens.  Their  practical  disposition,  too, 
aroused  in  them  a  regard  for  prose  literature  long  before 
they  showed  any  aptitude  for  poetry,  and  prose  in  its  most 
utilitarian  form,  history  in  the  form  of  dry  annals,  oratory 
as  dry,  and  jurisprudence.  There  was  a  certain  degree  of 
poetic  ability  displayed  by  the  dramatists,  but  it  is  doubt¬ 
ful  if  it  was  appreciated  as  such  by  their  earlier  hearers. 

Of  course,  with  the  passion  for  Greek  literature  that 
rapidly  developed  among  the  educated  classes,  Greek  poetry 
did  not  remain  without  its  admirers,  and  the  epics  written 
by  Na?vius  and  Ennius  on  the  early  history  of  Rome  prob¬ 
ably  aroused  a  degree  of  national  pride  in  their  readers, 
and  may  have  been  the  more  admired  in  that  day  for  their 

unpolished  and  annalistic  form. 

278 


THE  EARLY  ROMAN  POETRY. 


279 


As  for  lyric  poetry,  there  was  no. aptitude  shown  for  it  in 
this  earlier  period.  There  were  some  lyric  strains,  imi¬ 
tated  from  the  Greek,  in  the  works  of  the  tragedians,  but 
no  separate  attention  was  paid  to  this  form  of  poetry,  unless 
La^'vius,  whose  date  is  vepy  uncertain,  nourished  in  this  epoch. 
He  left  some  fugitive  amatory  pieces,  which  are,  however, 
destitute  of  any  special  lyrical  merit. 

The  one  form  in  which  poetry  did  take  early  root  among 
the  Romans,  and  the  only  form  with  whose  origin  they 
are  credited,  is  that  of  satire.  Not  that  Greece  lacked  the 
satiric  spirit,  as  displayed,  for  instance,  in  the  poems  of 
Archilochus  and  in  the  old  comedy,  but  satire  as  a  dis¬ 
tinctive  poetic  form  was  originated  by  the  Romans.  A  love 
for  this  species  of  poetry  had  probably  made  considerable 
progress  before  the  time  of  LuciTius,  who  was  born  148  b.c. 

His  works  form  an  era  in  Roman  literature.  Hitherto 
it  had  been  considered  the  province  of  slaves  and  freedmen, 
the  stern  old  Roman  spirit  despising  such  inactive  employ¬ 
ment  as  intellectual  cultivation.  Some  of  the  higher 
classes  enjoyed  and  patronized  literature,  but  did  not  make 
it  their  pursuit,  and  Lucilius  was  the  first  of  knightly  rank 
to  appear  in  the  poetic  field.  He  was  the  grand-uncle  of 
Pompey,  and  had  served  under  Scipio. 

His  Satires  were  comprised  in  thirty  books,  of  which  many 
fragments  are  still  extant.  These  poems  lack  literary  merit, 
and  were  adversely  criticised  by  later  Romans.  His  style 
is  careless,  unrefined,  affected,  and  shows  great  lack  of 
metrical  facility.  But  as  a  satirist  he  had  great  merit, 
striking  right  and  left  at  vice  with  a  frank  honesty  and 
biting  wit  that  must  have  made  his  victims  writhe.  His 
encomiums  on  virtue  form  as  striking  pictures  as  his  at¬ 
tacks  on  vice,  showing  him  to  be  a  man  of  high  moral 
principle.  After  his  death  satire  languished,  until  the  days 
of  Persius  and  Juvenal;  and  poetry  waited  the  sun  of  the 
Augustan  age  for  its  full  development. 


280 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Dramatic  literature,  in  this  later  age,  took  the  form  of 
the  mime,  a  combination  of  comedy,  farce  and  pantomime, 
in  which  burlesque,  satire  and  the  coarsest  humor,  con¬ 
tended  for  the  applause  of  the  unrefined  multitude.  As  the 
mimes  became  more  popular,  the  dialogue  took  a  more 
prominent  position,  and  was  written  in  verse,  instead  of 
in  prose. 

During  the  rule  of  Julius  Caesar  a  Roman  knight,  named 
Decius  Labe'rius,  became  eminent  for  his  mimes.  A  slave 
and  pupil  of  Laberius,  named  Publius  Syrus,  became  also 
an  admired  author  in  this  field.  The  profession  of  an  actor 
of  mimes  was  looked  on  as  infamous  and  degrading,  yet 
Laberius,  at  the  request  of  Caesar,  which  amounted  to  a 
command,  was  forced  to  enter  the  lists  against  his  former 
slave,  in  a  trial  of  improvisatorial  skill.  He  took  occasion 
to  revenge  himself  upon  his  imperial  master  by  a  series 
of  sarcasms,  some  of  which  are  still  extant. 

In  the  prologue  to  his  mime  he  remonstrated,  in  some 
beautiful  and  spirited  verses,  against  the  tyranny  of  Caesar. 
They  commence  as  follows: 

“O  strong  necessity!  of  whose  swift  course 
So  many  feel,  so  few  escape  the  force, 

Whither,  ah  whither  in  thy  prone  career, 

Hast  thou  decreed  this  dying  frame  to  bear? 

Me,  in  my  better  days,  nor  foe,  nor  friend, 

Nor  threat  nor  bribe,  nor  vanity  could  bend; 

Now  lured  by  flattery,  in  my  weaker  age 
I  sink  my  knighthood  and  ascend  the  stage. 

Yet  muse  not  wherefore — how  shall  man  gainsay 
Him  whom  the  Deities  themselves  obey? 

I’m  Caesar’s  actor  now,  and  compass  more 
In  one  short  hour  than  all  my  life  before.” 

He  was  restored  to  his  rank,  but  could  not  be  to  the 
respect  of  his  countrymen.  On  one  occasion  Cicero  called 
out  to  him,  as  he  was  making  his  way  to  the  stalls  of  the 
knights  in  the  theatre:  “  If  we  were  not  so  crowded,  I 


LUCRETIUS. 


281 


would  make  room  for  you  here.”  Laberius  cuttingly  re¬ 
plied,  alluding  to  Cicero’s  public  reputation:  “I  am  as¬ 
tonished  that  you  should  be  crowded,  as  you  generally  sit 
on  two  stools  !  ” 

LUCRE' TIUS. 

BORN  95  B.C. 

Ti'tus  Ca'rus  Lucre'  tius,  the  earliest  born  of  the  noted 
poets  of  Rome,  marks,  by  his  poem,  an  epoch  both  in  poetry 
and  philosophy.  His  philosophy,  however,  is  but  a  reflec¬ 
tion  of  that  of  the  Epicurean  school,  and  his  principal  merit 
lies  in  his  poetry. 

Of  the  life  of  Lucretius  we  are  in  almost  complete  igno¬ 
rance.  It  is  alleged  that  he  died  by  his  own  hand,  in  his 
forty-fourth  year,  having  been  made  frantic  by  a  love 
potion  which  had  been  administered  to  him;  and  that  he 
composed  his  works  in  the  intervals  of  his  madness.  All 
this,  however,  is  very  doubtful. 

The  great  work  on  which  his  fame  rests  is  an  epic  poem 
On  the  Nature  of  Things .  This  is  in  six  books,  and  is 
written  in  imitation  of  the  similar  poem  of  Empedocles. 
It  teaches  the  atomic  theory  of  Leucippus;  sustains  the 
axiom  that  “  nothing  is  created  out  of  nothing  ” ;  and  up¬ 
holds  that  there  are  divine  beings,  but  that  they  are  neither 
the  creators  nor  the  governors  of  the  world.  He  ascribes 
to  nature  a  living  vigor  —  almost  an  intelligence;  and 
infers,  from  the  destructibility  of  its  material  elements, 
that  the  soul  cannot  be  immortal. 

Combined  with  these  philosophical  doctrines  is  an  ex¬ 
position  of  plrvsical  science,  covering  such  subjects  as  the 
nature  of  the  soil,  the  character  of  sensation,  the  history 
of  mankind,  and  the  phenomena  of  disease  and  death.  All 
these  are  treated  with  a  fullness  and  perspicuity  which 
lifts  his  work  to  the  highest  place  among  didactic  poems, 
the  minutest  facts  of  science  and  the  deepest  speculations  of 


282 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME, 


philosophy  being  unfolded  with  equal  clearness,  while  dry 
and  even  repulsive  subjects  are  invested  with  a  warm  life 
and  interest. 

Indeed,  while  his  philosophy  is  at  second  hand,  his  poetry 
is  full  of  original  genius;  and  it  is  no  empty  boast  of  his, 
that  he  had  opened  a  path  through  the  territory  of  the 
Muse,  untrodden  before  by  poet’s  foot,  culling  fresh  flowers 
from  fields  where  they  had  never  before  been  sought  to 
wreathe  a  garland  for  the  poet’s  brow. 

The  great  beauty  of  his  poetry  is  its  variety.  To  the 
grandeur  and  sublimity  of  his  speculations  he  adds  the 
widely  different  qualities  of  softness  and  tenderness,  and 
yearns  for  a  release  of  his  country  from  the  horrors  of  war 
in  tones  instinct  with  the  deepest  pathos.  His  work  is 
richly  embellished  with  episodes,  which  serve  to  illuminate 
the  barrenness  of  much  of  his  philosophy,  and  is  written  in 
a  majestic  verse  which* is  only  inferior  to  that  of  Virgil  in 
melody,  and  which  wonderfully  moulds  the  hard  nature  of 
the  Latin  tongue. 

O 

We  extract  the  following  reference  to  the  sacrifice  of 
Iphigenia,  which  is  full  of  the  spirit  and  feeling  of  Greek 
fancy. 

IPHIGENIA  SACRIFICED. 

“  By  that  Diana’s  cruel  altar  flowed 
With  innocent  and  royal  virgin’s  blood ; 

Unhappy  maid!  with  sacred  ribands  bound, 

Religious  pride!  and  holy  garlands  crowned; 

To  meet  an  undeserved,  untimely  fate, 

Led  by  the  Grecian  chiefs  in  pomp  and  state; 

She  saw  her  father  by,  whose  tears  did  flow 
In  streams  —  the  only  pity  he  could  show. 

She  saw  the  crafty  priest  conceal  the  knife 
From  him,  blessed  and  prepared  against  her  life! 

She  saw  her  citizens,  with  weeping  eyes, 

Unwillingly  attend  the  sacrifice. 

Then,  dumb  with  grief,  her  tears  did  pity  crave, 

But  ’twas  beyond  her  father’s  power  to  save. 


LUCRETIUS. 


283 


She  fell  —  even  now  grown  ripe  for  bridal  joy  — 

To  bribe  the  Gods,  and  buy  a  wind  for  Troy. 

So  died  this  innocent,  this  royal  maid ; 

Such  fiendish  acts  religion  could  persuade.” — Creech. 

CONDITION-  OF  PRIMITIVE  MANKIND. 

“Then  hardier,  as  beseemed,  the  race  of  earth, 

Since  the  hard  ground  had  ushered  them  to  birth; 

More  vast  their  solid  bones,  and  tirm  within 

Were  strung  the  nerves,  that  branched  beneath  the  skin. 

No  change  of  skies  impaired  that  giant  mould, 

Proof  ’gainst  the  heat,  and  braced  to  feel  the  cold 
No  unknown  ailment  their  frames  diseased, 

No  plagues  infectious  on  their  bodies  seized; 

While  rolling  lustres  round  the  heavens  had  fled, 

Wild  as  the  beasts  their  wandering  lives  they  led. 

No  swain,  robust,  had  turned  with  guiding  hand 
The  crooked  plow,  no  iron  delved  the  land ; 

None  then  to  set  the  tender  sapling  knew, 

Or  from  tall  trees  the  withered  branches  hew; 

WThat  earth  spontaneous  gave,  and  sun  and  shower 
Matured,  sufficed  them  for  the  passing  hour; 

Midst  oaks,  whose  rustling  mast  bestrewed  the  ground 
Nourished  they  lay,  their  feasts  with  acorns  crowned. 

Then  wintry  arbutes,  that  allure  the  sight, 

With  blushing  hue  of  ripened  scarlet  bright; 

Earth  poured  more  plenteous,  and  of  ampler  size; 

For  the  new  world,  in  fresh  varieties, 

Blossomed  with  genial  fruits,  abundant  then 
To  sate  the  wants  of  miserable  men. 

Rivers  and  fountains,  with  their  gurgling  sound, 

Called  them  to  slake  their  thirst,  in  crowds  around, 

As  now  upon  the  mountain  torrent’s  brink, 

By  the  shrill  roar  allured,  the  beasts  impending  drink. 
With  nightly-wandering  step  they  sought  the  cells, 

•Where,  in  her  haunt,  the  fabled  wood-nymph  dwells; 

Where  sliding  waters  stealing  from  the  cave, 

Crept  o’er  the  humid  rocks,  with  smoothly-spreading  wave; 
The  humid  rocks,  that  drop  by  drop  distill 
Through  the  green  moss  the  slowly-trickling  rill ; 

Or  where  swift  springs,  in  gushes,  broke  away, 

And  laved  the  open  plains  in  bubbling  play. 


284 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Nor  fire  to  them  its  uses  had  revealed, 

Nor  did  the  skins  of  beasts  a  vesture  yield. 

With  wondrous  force  of  feet,  and  hands  endued, 

They  the  wild  race  of  woodland  beasts  pursued ; 

With  missile  stones  and  ponderous  clubs  opprest, 

Full  many  fell,  deep  lairs  concealed  the  rest; 

And  when  the  chase  was  done,  in  night’s  dark  shade. 

Like  bristly  boars  beneath  the  forest  laid, 

They  stretched  their  naked  limbs  upon  the  ground, 

With  broken  boughs  and  leaves  enveloped  round.” 

INVOCATION  TO  VENUS. 

“Kind  being!  mother  of  the  line  of  Troy! 

Venus!  of  Gods  and  men  voluptuous  joy! 

Who  wide  beneath  the  stars,  that  gliding  trace 
The  zodiac  circle,  mov’st  through  teeming  space, 

O’er  sail-skimmed  sea,  or  corn-exuberant  earth ; 

All  breathing  species  quicken  into  birth 
By  thy  vivific  power;  by  thee  they  raise 
To  the  sun’s  orb  their  liglit-awakened  gaze. 

Thee  and  thy  coming,  Goddess!  whirlwinds  fly, 

The  clouds  of  air  disperse  when  thou  art  nigh; 

The  variegated  earth  with  flowerets  sweet 
Springs  into  life,  and  blooms  beneath  thy  feet; 

Laugh  the  wide  waves  of  ocean  in  thy  sight, 

And  heaven  smooth  glitters  with  expansive  light. 

Since  thou  alone  dost  Nature’s  system  sway, 

Since  without  thee  none  breathe  the  light  of  day, 

And  nothing  joyous,  nothing  lovely  shines, 

Be  thou  the  gracious  partner  of  my  lines.” — Elton. 

CATUL'LUS. 

BORN  8G  B.C. 

C.  Vale'rius  Catul'lus,  a  contemporary  of  Lucretius,  was 
born  of  a  good  family,  residing  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Verona,  his  father  being  an  intimate  friend  of  Julius  Caesar. 
He  went  to  Rome  while  quite  young,  probably  for  purposes 
of  education,  but  his  warm  temperament  led  him  into  all 
the  licentious  excesses  of  the  capital.  His  only  occupa¬ 
tion,  at  this  period  of  his  life,  seems  to  have  been  indul- 


CATULLUS. 


285 


gence  in  the  pleasures  of  dissipation,  and  the  cultivation 
of  his  literary  talents.  The  elegance  and  tenderness  of 
his  amatory  poetry  made  him  a  favorite  wLh  the  fair  sex, 
and  its  licentiousness  was  not  out  of  keeping  with  the  tone 
of  Roman  fashionable  society. 

This  course  of  life  finally  involved  him  in  pecuniary 
troubles,  and  in  order  to  retrieve  his  fortunes,  in  the 
customary  method  of  colonial  plunder,  he  accompanied 
Mem'mius,  the  friend  of  Lucretius,  when  he  went  as  praetor 
to  Bithyn'ia.  He  did  not  succeed,  however,  as  the  su¬ 
perior  robber  kept  all  the  plunder  for  himself,  and  Catullus 
returned  to  Rome  “  with  his  purse  full  of  cobwebs.”  On 
his  return  to  the  capital  he  resumed  his  old  habits,  and 
died  in  the  prime  of  life,  probably  in  47  b.c. 

His  works  consist  of  numerous  short  lyrics,  elegies  and 
epigrams,  of  which  one  hundred  and  sixteen  have  been 
preserved;  of  odes,  four  of  which  are  extant;  of  a  narra¬ 
tive  poem  on  the  marriage  of  Pe'leus  and  The'tis;  and 
of  a  wildly  enthusiastic  poem  entitled  A'tys. 

He  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  Greek  poets, 
on  whom  his  own  style  was  formed,  though  he  had  the 
skill  to  conceal  his  lack  of  originality,  and  to  adapt  to  his 
own  purposes  the  materials  of  the  Hellenic  muse.  His 
polish  and  learning,  and  the  living  reality  with  which  he 
invested  his  poems,  made  him  a  favorite  in  Roman  liter¬ 
ary  society,  and  the  ability  with  which  he  applied  to  Roman 
life  and  habits  the  ideal  of  Greek  love  and  beauty,  kept 
his  fame  green  during  all  the  ages  of  Rome’s  literary  ex¬ 
istence.  His  poems  are  still  admired  for  their  exquisite 
grace  and  beauty  of  style,  despite  their  impure  voluptu¬ 
ousness.  No  genius  has  ever  shown  more  various  aspects. 
His  playfulness  and  petulance,  his  childlike  vivacity  and 
simplicity,  are  combined  with  the  greatest  melody  and  ten¬ 
derness;  while  with  these  he  unites  passion  and  vehemence, 
and  a  biting  satiric  wit. 


286 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


His  satire,  indeed,  was  more  vindictiveness  than  a  noble 
indignation  against  vice.  He  attacked  Caesar  most  offen- 

o  O 

sively,  reading  bitter  lampoons  in  his  presence;  but  the 
noble  Roman  would  not  stoop  to  crush  his  insulter,  and 
did  not  even  suffer  a  change  of  expression  to  show  itself 
in  his  countenance. 

Catullus  lacked  the  mental  grasp  and  grandeur  of  tone 
to  conduct  an  epic  poem.  His  heroic  subject  of  the  mar¬ 
riage  of  Peleus  and  Thetis  lacks  epic  unity  and  majesty, 
but  is  marked  by  liveliness,  pathos  and  luxuriant  fancy. 
Its  most  beautiful  passage  is  the  episode  relating  the  story 
of  Theseus  and  Ariadne,  which  is  represented  as  being  em¬ 
broidered  on  the  hangings  of  the  palace  of  Holeus. 

The  following  verses  form  part  of  the  complaint  of 
Ariad'ne  for  the  perfidious  desertion  of  The'seus. 

“  And  couldst  thou,  Theseus,  from  her  native  land 
Thy  Ariadne  bring,  then  cruel  so 
Desert  thy  victim  on  a  lonely  strand  V 

And  didst  thou,  perjured,  dare  to  Athens  go, 

Nor  dread  the  weight  of  Heaven’s  avenging  blow? 

Could  naught  thy  heart  with  sacred  pity  touch  ? 

Naught  make  thy  soul  the  baleful  plot  forego  • 

’Gainst  her  that  loved  thee?  Ah!  not  once  were  such 
The  vows,  the  hopes,  thy  smooth  professions  did  avouch! 

Then  all  was  truth,  then  did  thy  honeyed  tongue 
Of  wedded  faith  the  flattering  fable  weave. 

-  All,  all  unto  the  winds  of  heaven  are  flung! 

Henceforth  let  never  listening  maid  believe 
Protesting  man.  When  their  false  hearts  conceive 
The  selfish  wish,  to  all  but  pleasure  blind, 

No  words  they  spare,  no  oaths  unuttered  leave; 

But  when  possession  cloys  their  pampered  mind, 

No  care  have  they  for  oaths,  no  words  their  honor  bind. 

For  this,  then,  I  from  instant  death  did  cover 
Thy  faithless  bosom;  and  for  this  preferred, 

Even  to  a  brother’s  blood,  a  perjured  lover; 


CATULLUS. 


Now  to  be  torn  by  savage  beast  and  bird, 

Willi  no  due  form,  no  decent  rite,  interred ! 

What  foaming  sea,  what  savage  of  the  night, 

In  murky  den  thy  monstrous  birth  conferred? 
What  whirlpool  guides  and  gave  thee  to  the  light, 
The  welcome  boon  of  life  thus  basely  to  requite? 

What  though  thy  royal  father’s  stern  command 
The  bond  of  marriage  to  our  lot  forbade, 

Oh !  safely  still  into  thy  native  land 

I  might  have  gone  thy  happy  serving  maid ; 
There  gladly  washed  thy  snowy  feet,  or  laid 
Upon  thy  blissful  couch  the  purple  vest. 

Ah,  vain  appeal !  upon  the  winds  conveyed, 

The  heedless  winds,  that  hear  not  my  behest, 

No  words  his  ear  can  reach  or  penetrate  his  breast 

TO  HIMSELF. 

“Catullus!  give  thy  follies  o’er; 

Ah,  wretch!  what’s  lost  expect  no  more: 

Thy  suns  shone  bright,  when  to  and  fro 
Thou,  at  her  beck,  didst  come  and  go; 

The  nymph  who  once  thy  passion  proved, 

As  never  nymph  shall  e’er  be  loved. 

Then  clear  and  bright  thy  sun  would  shine; 
And  doth  she  now  thy  love  decline? 

Then  be  a  like  refusal  thine. 

Follow  not  her  who  dies  from  thee; 

Nor  wretched  in  despondence  be, 

But  scorn  the  weakness  that  can  feel, 

And  bear  thy  grief  with  breast  of  steel. 
Farewell,  oh  girl!  whom  I  adore! 

Catullus  now  laments  no  more: 

Firm  he  persists:  he  will  not  woo, 

Nor  lbi  unwilling  favors  sue. 

Yet  thou  wilt  grieve,  when  asked  by  none: 
Think,  cruel!  how  thy  days  will  run! 

Who  to  thy  side  shall  now  repair? 

In  whose  fond  eyes  shall  thou  be  fair? 

Whom  wilt  thou  for  thy  lover  choose? 

Whose  shall  they  call  thee?  false  one!  whose 


288 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Who  shall  thy  darted  kisses  sip, 

While  thy  keen  love  bites  scar  his  lip? 
But  thou,  Catullus!  scorn  to  feel: 

Persist  —  and  let  thy  heart  be  steel.” 

TO  LESBIA’S  SPARROW. 

“  Sparrow !  my  nymph’s  delicious  pleasure 
Who  with  thee,  her  pretty  treasure, 
Fanciful  in  frolic,  plays 
Thousand,  thousand  wanton  ways; 

Thy  beak  with  finger-tip  incites, 

And  dallies  with  thy  becks  and  bites; 
When  my  beauty,  my  desire, 

Feels  her  darling  whim  inspire, 

AVitli  nameless  trillings,  such  as  these, 

To  snatch,  I  trow,  a  tiny  ease 
For  some  keen  fever  of  the  breast, 

While  passion  toys  itself  to  rest; 

I  would  that  happy  lady  be, 

And  so  in  pastime  sport  with  thee, 

And  lighten  love’s  soft  agony.” 

ELEGY  ON  THE  SPARROW. 

“Each  love,  each  Venus,  mourn  with  me! 
Mourn,  every  son  of  gallantry ! 

The  Sparrow,  my  own  nymph’s  delight, 
The  joy  and  apple  of  her  sight; 

The  honey-bird,  the  darling  dies, — 

To  Lesbia  dearer  than  her  eyes. 

As  the  fair  one  knew  her  mother, 

So  he  knew  her  from  another. 

AVitli  his  gentle  lady  wrestling; 

In  her  snowy  bosom  nestling; 

AVitli  a  flutter  and  a  bound, 

Quivering  round  her  and  around; 
Chirping,  twittering,  ever  near, 

Notes  meant  only  for  her  ear. 

Now  he  skims  the  shadowy  way, 

AVhence  none  return  to  cheerful  day. 
Beshrew  the  shades!  that  thus  devour 


VIRGIL. 


289 


All  that’s  pretty  in  an  hour. 

The  pretty  sparrow,  thus,  is  dead; 

The  tiny  fugitive  is  fled. 

Deed  of  spite !  poor  bird ! — Ah,  see ! 

For  thy  dear  sake,  alas!  for  me  — 

My  nymph  with  brimful  eyes  appears, 

Red  from  the  flushing  of  her  tears.” 

OF  QUINTIA  AND  LESBIA. 

“Quintia  is  beauteous  in  the  million’s  eye; 

Yes  —  beauteous  in  particulars,  I  own: 

Fair-skinned,  straight-shaped,  full-sized;  yet  I  deny 
A  beauteous  whole;  of  charming  ness  there’s  none: 

In  all  that  height,  of  figure  there  is  not 
A  seasoning  spice  of  that — I  know  not  what; 

That  piquant  something,  grace  without  a  name: 

Rut  Lesbia’s  air  is  charming  as  her  frame; 

Yes — Lesbia,  beauteous  in  one  graceful  whole, 

From  all  her  sex  their  single  graces  stole.”  — Elton. 

VIR'GIL. 

BORN  70  BiC. 

P.  Virgil'  ius  Ma'ro,  famous  as  the  greatest  poet  of  the 
Latin  race,  was  not  a  native  of  the  city  which  his  genius  so 
adorned,  being  born  at  a  small  village  a  few  miles  from 
Mantua.  He  probably  received  a  thorough  education,  his 
first  school  life  being  passed  at  Cremo'na,  whence  lie  went 
to  Milan,  and  afterward  to  Naples.  Here  he  studied  Greek 
literature  and  philosophy,  but  his  favorite  studies  are  said 
to  have  been  medicine  and  mathematics;  an  unusual  but  a 
useful  discipline  for  the  future  poet. 

From  Naples  it  is  conjectured  that  he  sought  the  imperial 
city,  but  that  he  was  too  bashful  in  disposition  and  too  deli¬ 
cate  in  health  for  the  bustle  and  turmoil  of  Rome,  which  he 
soon  left  for  the  quiet  of  his  native  home. 

It  is  possible,  however,  that  his  first  visit  to  Rome  was 
not  made  until  his  thirtieth  year,  when  he  went  there  to 


290 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


try  and  recover  his  patrimony.  After  Brutus  and  the 
republican  party  were  defeated  at  the  battle  of  Philip' pi, 
the  districts  surrounding  the  towns  of  Cremona  and  Mantua, 
which  had  supported  Brutus,  were  divided  among  the 
soldiers  of  Octa'vius  and  An'tony.  Virgil’s  modest  estate 
was  included  in  this  confiscation;  hut  it  was  restored  to  him 
after  he  had  sought  Rome  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
influential  Maece'nas,  and,  through  him,  of  Octavius. 

He  now  became  a  prosperous  and  popular  man,  his 
genius  making  him  chief  of  the  literary  coterie  that  graced 
the  table  of  the  wealthy  and  liberal  Maece'nas,  and  which 
included  such  other  names  as  Hor'ace,  Plo'tius,  and  Va'rius. 
During  this  period  he  finished  his  Eclogues,  and,  at  the  sug¬ 
gestion  of  Maecenas,  commenced  the  composition  of  the 
Georgies.  This  work  he  finished  at  Naples,  where  he  spent 
the  later  years  of  his  life,  its  climate  being  favorable  to  his 
pulmonary  weakness.  He  had  also  a  villa  in  Sicily,  and  a 
pleasant  house  on  the  Esquiline  in  Rome.  He  had  now 
become  rich, —  possibly  through  the  liberality  of  Maecenas, 
and  the  favor  of  Octavius,  who  had  reached  the  imperial 
dignity  as  Augustus.  The  JEne'  id  was  his  latest  work, 
probably  occupying  many  of  the  declining  years  of  his  life. 

In  19  b.c.  he  went  to  Greece,  intending,  during  his  tour 
in  that  classic  land,  to  give  the  final  polish  to  his  great 
poem.  He  only  reached  Athens,  however,  meeting  there 
"  Augustus,  on  his  triumphal  return  from  the  east,  and  being 
induced  to  accompany  him  back  to  Rome.  This  journey 
proved  too  much  for  his  feeble  health.  He  was  taken 
seriously  ill,  and  died  a  few  days  after  landing,  in  his  fifty- 
second  year.  It  is  said  that,  dissatisfied  with  the  unfinished 
condition  of  the  JEneiel,  he  desired  that  it  should  be  burned 
after  his  death,  but  that  it  was  saved  by  the  injunction  of 
the  emperor,  or  by  the  interposition  of  some  of  his  friends. 

Virgil  was  a  tall,  dark,  farmer-like  man,  retiring  in  dis¬ 
position,  and  by  nature  pensive  and  melancholy.  He  was 


VIRGIL. 


291 


very  temperate  in  manner  of  living,  pure-minded  in  the 
midst  of  a  licentious  age,  his  native  simplicity  never  leav¬ 
ing  him,  and  his  rustic  shyness  resisting  all  the  polish  of 
the  polite  circles  of  the  capital.  Of  the  value  of  his  own 
works  he  was  always  distrustful,  and  could  not  be  induced 
to  send  an  unfinished  portion  of  the  JEneid  to  the  emperor 
to  read.  “  If  I  had  anything  worth  your  reading  I  would 
send  it  with  pleasure,”  he  writes,  “  but  the  work  is  only 
just  begun,  and  I  even  blame  my  folly  for  venturing  upon 
so  vast  a  task.” 

Virgil’s  earliest  extant  poems  are  some  short  lyric  and 
elegiac  works,  principally  on  rural  subjects;  but  the  pro¬ 
ductions  which  established  his  reputation  are  his  Bucolics ,  or 
Eclogues.  These  are  a  series  of  pastoral  poems,  the  charac¬ 
ters  Italian,  but  the  sentiments,  scenery  and  customs  Si¬ 
cilian.  This  is  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  there  was  no  true 
pastoral  life  in  Italy,  and  still  more  to  their  being  imita¬ 
tions  of  the  Idyls  of  Theocritus,  the  great  Syracusan  poet. 
They  are  inferior,  both  in  power  of  characterization  and  in 
naturalness,  to  the  works  of  Theocritus,  yet  are  possessed  of 
great  merit. 

His  Georgies ,  in  which  he  took  Hesiod  as  a  model,  were 
far  better  adapted  to  Italian  life,  where  the  peasants  were 
an  honest,  plain-spoken,  rough-mannered  people,  without  a 
grain  of  the  sentimentality  imputed  to  the  pastoral  races. 

i 

This  work  has  received  the  greatest  praise,  and  is  considered 
by  Addison  as  the  noblest  production  of  its  author,  superior 
even  to  the  JEneid.  It  is  much  more  poetic  in  spirit  than 
its  Hesiodic  model,  being  rather  descriptive  than  didactic, 
and  illuminating  its  pictures  of  rural  life  by  frequent  epi¬ 
sodes.  It  treats,  in  the  first  book,  of  tillage;  in  the  second, 
of  orchards;  in  the  third  and  most  spirited,  of  the  care  of 
horses  and  cattle;  in  the  fourth  and  most  entertaining,  of 
the  management  of  bees.  But  its  greatest  merit  lies  in  its 


292 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


varied  digressions,  and  in  the  lofty  descriptive  outbursts 
which  occur  throughout  the  poem. 

For  the  idea  and  plan  of  the  AEneid  our  author  is  in¬ 
debted  to  Homer.  As  the  wrath  of  Achilles  is  the  moving 
principle  in  the  Iliad ,  so  in  the  anger  of  Juno  we  have  the 
connecting  link  of  the  JEneid  ;  and  many  of  the  finest  pas¬ 
sages  and  images  are  imitations,  or  even  direct  translations, 
of  Homer.  Later  Greek  epics,  too,  the  works  of  the  trage¬ 
dians,  and  the  Argonautica  of  Apollonius,  supplied  him 
with  materials,  and  the  chief  merit  of  his  plot  is  his  skillful 
interweaving  of  these  varied  threads.  He  even  laid  the  old 
Roman  poets  under  contribution,  and  copied  from  them 
freely;  but  to  everything  he  touched  he  gave  a  lofty  or 
a  pathetic  merit  which  only  the  hand  of  genius  can  impart. 
Despite  his  want  of  originality,  he  remains  the  greatest  of 
classic  epic  poets  after  Homer,  and  in  some  respects  sur¬ 
passes  even  this  grand  master  of  the  art. 

For  variety  of  incidents  and  skill  in  their  arrangement, 
the  interest  with  which  every  detail  of  his  story  is  invested, 
its  majesty  of  tone  and  the  polish  of  its  language,  its  well- 
sustained  characters,  and  the  tender  pathos  of  many  of  its 
episodes,  Virgil  has  no  superior.  In  that  rhetorical  artifice 
of  adapting  the  sound  to  the  sense  he  is  especially  skillful, 
many  striking  instances  occurring  in  his  work.  He  is 
unsurpassed,  too,  in  personification,  and  in  a  power  of  word 
painting  which  gives  many  of  his  descriptions  the  pic¬ 
turesque  force  of  a  landscape  painting. 

With  these  merits,  however,  are  certain  defects.  His 
frequent  borrowings  from  previous  writers;  his  extracting 
whole  similes,  word  for  word,  from  Homer;  his  allegiance 
to  models;  show  a  poverty  of  original  conception.  The 
pious  Aeneas,  too,  whom  he  presents  as  a  model  of  virtue 
and  honor,  only  shows  his  piety  in  his  talk,  not  in  his 
actions.  His  base  and  cowardly  desertion  of  Dido,  and  his 
no  less  base  slaughter  of  Turnus,  for  having  dared  defend 


VIRGIL. 


293 


his  country,  hardly  accord  with  our  modern  ideas  of  piety. 
Dido,  in  fact,  the  wronged  Carthaginian  queen,  is  Virgil’s 
finest  effort,  and  excites  our  warmest  sympathy  with  her 
melancholy  and  her  despair. 

In  the  Middle  Ages  Virgil  became  raised  to  the  rank  of 
a  magician,  through  some  magical  influence  attributed  to 
his  writings  Many  absurd  legends  were  gathered  about 
his  name,  and  it  was  long  before  his  true  life  and  character 
emerged  from  the  mists  of  superstition  in  which  they  were 
thus  enveloped. 

FROM  THE  GEORGICS. - PRAISES  OF  A  COUNTRY  LIFE. 

“  Oh  peasants,  far  too  blest !  if  only  this 
Were  theirs,  the  simple  knowledge  of  their  bliss! 

Far  from  the  din  of  arms,  earth’s  foodful  soil 
With  easy  nutriment  repays  their  toil. 

Though  not,  at  morn,  their  mansions’  portals  proud 
Wide  disembogue  the  ebbing  flatterer  crowd; 

No  pillars,  chased  with  shells,  they  rapt  behold; 

Busts  of  fine  brass,  nor  arras  wrought  with  gold: 

Though  their  fine  wool  no  Syrian  venom  paint, 

And  their  pure  oil  no  foreign  perfumes  taint; 

Yet,  rich  in  various  wealth,  the  peasant  knows 
A  life  ingenuous,  and  a  safe  repose; 

Calm  fields,  fresh  dells,  grots,  limpid  lakes,  the  breeze 
Echoing  with  herds,  and  slumbers  Lowered  with  trees. 

Be  woodlands,  then,  my  joy,  and  bubbling  springs 
That  down  the  valley  branch  their  murmurings; 

Yes —  let  me,  lost  to  fond  ambition’s  dreams, 

Inglorious  love  the  forests  and  the  streams! 

Plains!  where  Sperche'us  rolls  his  waters  deep! 

Taygetus!  above  whose  craggy  steep 
The  Spartan  maid  in  Bacchic  orgies  flies, 

Oh!  wherefore  are  ye  hidden  from  my  eyes? 

Who,  now,  shall  lay  me  down  to  feel  the  gale, 

That  freshening  breathes  in  Hoe'mus’  breezy  vale? 

Stretch  broad  the  giant  branches  o’er  the  glade, 

And  screen  me  with  immensity  of  shade?” 


294 


TIIE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


FROM  THE  A5NEID. - JENEAS  IN  AFRICA. 

The  good  ^Eneas,  musing  through  the  night, 

Sprang  forth,  with  earliest  dawn  of  cheerful  light; 
Intent  the  unknown  region  to  explore; 

What  realm  received  them,  wrecked  upon  its  shore; 

If  men,  or  beasts,  possessed  the  desert  land; 

And  bear  the  tidings  to  his  Trojan  band. 

Beneath  a  hollow  cliff  the  ships  were  laid, 

Screened  by  the  woods,  that  frowned  in  shaggy  shade. 
Aeha'tes  at  his  side,  he  trod  the  sands, 

Two  broad-tipped  javelins  quivering  in  his  hands: 
When  sudden,  on  his  path,  amidst  the  shade, 

His  mother  came,  in  look  a  Spartan  maid; 

So  armed,  so  clad;  or  as  the  fair  of  Thrace, 

Who  left  the  steed  behind  her  in  the  race, 

And,  with  her  flying  feet,  outstripped  the  blast; 

A  pliant  bow  was  o’er  her  shoulders  cast; 

She  seemed  a  huntress;  her  neglected  hair 
Flowed  on  the  breezes,  and  her  knee  was  bare; 

While  gathered  in  a  knot,  the  girded  vest 
Within  her  zone  its  floating  folds  compressed. 

‘IIo!  youths!’  she  cried,  ‘declare,  if  on  your  way 
One  of  my  sisters  here  has  chanced  to  stray; 

A  quiver,  and  a  lynx’s  hide  she  wore; 

Heard  ye  her  shout  pursue  the  foaming  boar?’ 

Thus  Venus  said;  and  thus  her  son  replied: 

‘  None  such  we  heard,  and  none  have  we  descried : 

O  thou!  whate’er  thou  art!  O  maid  divine! 

No  mortal  look,  no  human  accents  thine; 

Most  sure  a  Goddess!  if  a  sister,  say, 

-Of  woodland  nymphs,  or  of  the  God  of  day? 

Be  blest,  whoe’er  thou  art,  and  ease  our  toil ; 

Reveal  wliat  clime  we  breathe,  and  what  the  soil.’ 

Then  Venus:  ‘Not  to  me  belong  the  claim 
Of  these  high  honors,  or  a  heavenly  name. 

Your  eyes  the  Carthaginian  Kingdom  trace, 

Age'nor’s  city,  and  a  Tyrian  race.’  ” 


VIRGIL. 


295 


THE  BUILDING  OF  CARTHAGE. 

“Meanwhile  the  Trojans  took  their  onward  way 
Where  the  directing  path  before  them  lay; 

Anon  they  climbed  a  hill,  whose  beetling  brow 
Hung  o’er  the  town  in  prospect  stretched  below. 

His  wondering  glance,  from  high,  JEneas  throws 
On  piles  that  rise,  where  reedy  cabins  rose; 

Admires  the  din,  deep-rolling  on  his  ear, 

Sees  lofty  gates,  and  spacious  streets  appear. 

Their  fervent  toil  the  thronging  Tyrians  ply; 

Some  rear  the  citadel;  and  heave  on  high 

The  ponderous  stones;  the  wall’s  vast  circuit  trace, 

Or  trench  around  the  future  dwelling  place. 

Some  dig  the  port;  bid  theatres  ascend, 

Whose  broad  foundations  deep  in  earth  extend: 

And,  hewn  from  rocks,  stupendous  columns  raise, 
While  future  scenes  swell,  pompous,  on  the  gaze. 

Such  restless  toil,  in  summer’s  early  hours, 

Employs  the  bees  among  the  sunny  flowers: 

When  their  young  swarms  the  winged  nation  leads 
Through  the  warm  air,  and  o’er  the  enamelled  meads: 
Or  when  the  liquid  gold  they  thickening  blend, 

And  every  cell  with  nectarous  balm  distend; 

Relieve  the  comers  of  their  load,  or  drive 
The  slothful  drones  at  distance  from  the  hive: 

The  rival  task  in  glowing  murmur  spreads; 

The  fragrant  honey  breathes  of  tliymy  beds. 

O’er  the  high  towers  ^Eneas  bends  his  eyes; 

And  ‘Happy  ye!  whose  walls  already  rise!’ 

He  said ;  and  wonderous !  passed  unseen  along, 

Wrapt  in  the  cloud;  and  mingles  with  the  throng. 

While  these  HSneas  wonderingly  surveys, 

Hangs  on  the  scene,  and  rivets  all  his  gaze; 

Dido  the  temple’s  lofty  steps  ascends, 

Of  fairest  form;  a  guard  of  youths  attends. 

Such  as  Diana,  who  the  dances  leads 

O’er  Cyntlius’  heights,  or  o’er  Eurotas’  meads.” 


296 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


FROM  THE  MINOR  POEMS. - THE  TAVERN  DANCING-GIRL. 

“The  Syrian  girl,  who  haunts  the  taverns  round, 

Her  forehead  with  a  Greek  tiara  bound ; 

Expert  in  dance  her  pliant  sides  to  twine 
With  sound  of  castanets,  now  reels  with  wine; 

As  round  the  reeky  booth  she  frisking  speeds, 

Her  nimble  elbow  shakes  the  rattling  reeds. 

Why  should  it  please  to  plod  our  weary  way 
Through  cloudy  dust,  in  summer’s  scorching  day? 

How  better  far  on  table-beds  recline, 

That  drop  with  odors  of  refreshing  wine! 

Here  casks,  cups,  beakers,  wait;  here  roses  spring 
To  crown  our  heads;  lutes  breathe,  and  viols  ring; 

Here  the  bowered  walk  a  breezy  cool  entwines, 

And  chequered  shadows  fall  from  arching  vines. 

Here  too  from  an  Arcadian  grot’s  retreat, 

A  pipe  with  shepherd  music  babbles  sweet; 

Poured  from  pitched  cask  the  new-drawn  wine  runs  clear, 
A  brook,  in  brawling  murmurs  gurgles  near. 

Crocus  and  violet  in  one  garland  blow, 

And  saffron  wreaths  with  purpling  roses  glow; 

And  lilies,  dipped  in  clear  and  virgin  spring, 

Some  naiad  shall  in  osier  basket  bring; 

Here  cheeses,  dried  in  rushy  frails,  abound; 

And  yellow  plums,  that  heap  the  autumnal  ground; 
Chestnuts,  and  apples,  that  sweet-reddening  shine; 

Pure  wheat,  gay  love,  and  mirth-inspiring  wine, 

Here  mulberries  bleed;  the  grape’s  lithe  cluster  bends; 
And  blue  the  rush-bound  cucumber  depends.” — Elton. 


HOR'ACE. 

BORN  65  B.C. 

Quin'tus  Hora' tius  Flac'cus,  the  renowned  lyric  poet, 
was  a  native  of  Venu'sia,  in  Apn'lia.  His  father  had  been 
born  a  slave,  but  had  attained  his  freedom,  and  had  ac¬ 
quired  sufficient  fortune  to  purchase  a  small  estate  in  that 
locality.  At  this  period  the  Libertini ,  or  freedmen,  had  gained 


HORACE. 


297 


a  higher  social  position  than  they  formerly  held,  through 
the  frequent  wealth  which  the  restrictions  of  Roman  law 
threw  into  their  hands.  None  of  the  nobility  were  free  to 
engage  in  commerce,  nor  in  any  avocation,  indeed,  except 
war  and  agriculture.  Commerce,  manufactures,  etc.,  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  freedmen,  who,  by  the  wealth  thus 
acquired,  became  a  powerful  and  important  class,  both 
socially  and  politically.  They  were  the  bankers,  merchants 
and  tradesmen  of  Rome. 

The  father  of  Horace,  who  was  a  man  of  strict  integrity 
and  of  sound  judgment,  seeing  the  promise  of  his  son,  de¬ 
termined  to  give  him  an  education  equal  to  that  bestowed 
on  the  children  of  the  higher  classes.  For  this  purpose  he 
removed  to  Rome,  placed  him  in  the  best  schools,  and 
enabled  him  by  dress  and  a  retinue  of  slaves  to  associate 
with  boys  far  above  him  in  rank.  At  the  same  time  he 
kept  him  under  his  own  roof,  and  Horace  himself  tells  how 
he  benefited  by  the  liberality,  good  example  and  sage  advice 
of  this  excellent  father. 

His  education  at  Rome  being  finished,  he  was  sent  to 
Athens,  whither  the  Roman  youth  then  resorted  for  all  the 
branches  of  a  higher  education.  At  the  time  of  the  assassi¬ 
nation  of  Julius  Caesar,  Horace,  then  twenty-two  }7ears  of 
age,  and  an  ardent  republican  in  spirit,  joined  the  army  of 
Brutus,  and  served  under  him  as  a  military  tribune.  He 
must  already  have  attained  distinction,  to  be  given  so  high 
a  rank  in  the  army.  He  himself  gives  us  to  understand 
that  he  was  not  born  to  be  a  soldier,  relating  how  he  threw 
away  his  shield  in  his  flight  from  the  battle  of  Philippi; 
though  this  may  have  been  intended  as  a  piece  of  politic 
flattery  to  the  conqueror. 

On  his  return  to  Rome  he  found  his  father  dead  and  his 
patrimony  confiscated,  and  was  obliged  to  purchase  the 
place  of  public  scribe,  which  gave  him  a  modest  livelihood. 
He  hated  business,  however,  and  applied  himself  earnestly 


298 


TIIE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


to  literary  labor,  soon  becoming  favorably  known  to  Virgil 
and  Varius,  then  the  leading  poets  of  Rome. 

A  strong  attachment  ensued  between  the  three  poets, 
and  Horace  was  introduced  by  his  friends  to  Maecenas,  the 
powerful  patron  of  literary  genius.  He.  was  very  curtly 
received  by  Maecenas,  who  took  no  further  notice  of  him 
for  nine  months.  He  then  sent  for  him  and  enrolled  him 
in  the  number  of  his  friends.  From  that  time  forward  our 
poet  enjoyed  uninterrupted  intimacy  with  his  wealthy 
patron,  and  through  him  was  introduced  to  the  favor  of 
Augustus.  He  acquired,  by  the  gift  or  through  the  aid  of 
Maecenas,  a  farm  in  the  neighborhood  of  Tibur  (Tivoli). 

The  remainder  of  his  life  was  spent  between  this  estate 
and  Rome,  where  he  had  a  house  on  the  pleasant  heights  of 
the  Esquiline,  passing,  with  fickle  fancy,  from  the  brilliance 
and  luxury  of  Rome  to  the  quiet  retirement  of  his  farm, 
and  the  reverse,  in  frequent  alternations.  He  thus  lived  a 
happy  and  perfectly  satisfied  life,  coveting  no  greater  wealth, 
and  enjoying  alike  the  gayeties  of  the  capital,  the  quiet  and 
intelligent  converse  of  his  friends,  and  the  hours  of  musing 
idleness  by  the  side  of  his  favorite  stream.  He  died  of  a 
sudden  illness,  in  the  fifty-seventh  year  of  his  age. 

The  first  known  poems  of  Horace  were  his  Satires ;  these 
being  followed  by  a  series  of  poems  called  Epodes ,  in  imita¬ 
tion  of  the  Greek  satirist,  Archilochus.  His  next  publica¬ 
tion  was  of  his  Odes ,  many  of  which,  however,  had  probably 
been  written  in  Ins  earlier  years.  He  also  wrote  two  books 
called  Epistles ,  and  some  other  works. 

Horace,  as  a  man,  was  of  refined  tastes  and  genial  man¬ 
ners,  adroit  in  compliment,  but  no  flatterer.  His  morals 
were  lax,  as  indeed  were  those  of  most  of  his  contempora¬ 
ries.  He  was  jealous  of  his  poetical  reputation,  and  could 
not  be  made  to  see  any  merit  in  old  Roman  poetry,  appar¬ 
ently  from  a  vain  wish  to  be  considered  the  first  of  Roman 
satirists;  but  otherwise  he  was  candid  and  sincere. 


HORACE. 


299 


As  a  poet  he  stands,  in  his  special  vein,  without  an  equal. 
His  Satires,  or  Discourses ,  as  they  may  more  appropriately 
be  called,  are  a  creation  peculiarly  his  own.  They  have 
none  of  the  bitterness  of  Lucilius,  the  love  of  purity  of 
Perseus,  or  the  burning  indignation  of  Juvenal.  Indeed, 
society  had  not  yet  reached  the  debased  state  which  called 
forth  the  keen  strictures  of  his  successors,  and  Horace  was 
not  the  man  for  an  assault  on  vice  from  the  standpoint  of 
high  morality. 

He  writes  from  the  position  of  a  man  of  the  world,  treat¬ 
ing  vices  as  follies,  and  sketching  a  good-humored  picture 
of  the  inherent  viciousness  of  Roman  social  life.  But, 
though  not  himself  shocked  by  this,  he  appreciates  the  vir¬ 
tue  of  prudent  moderation,  and  enforces  it  with  such  sound 
sense,  dramatic  liveliness  and  vivacious  wit,  that  the  pulpit, 
as  well  as  the  study,  have  profited  by  his  teachings,  and  he 
has  been  a  favorite  of  ecclesiastics,  as  well  as  of  men  of 
letters. 

The  Epistles  contain  the  graver  element  of  the  Satires  in 
still  greater  perfection,  with  the  addition  of  a  fine  vein  of 
personal  emotion  and  reflection,  and  a  tinge  of  melancholy, 
which  makes  them,  on  the  whole,  the  most  valuable  of  the 
works  of  Horace. 

But  despite  the  artistic  and  dramatic  power  of  the 
Satires ,  and  the  correct  taste,  lively  wit,  and  critical  ele¬ 
gance  of  the  Epistles ,  it  is  to  the  Odes  we  must  look  for 
the  fullest  display  of  the  poetical  genius  of  Horace.  Poetic 
effect  was  not  the  main  object  of  the  previously  mentioned 
works,  and  only  in  these  inimitable  lyrics  does  the  beauty 
of  sentiment,  gracefulness  of  language,  and  melody  of  versi¬ 
fication,  give  us  a  complete  conception  of  the  powers  of 
their  writer. 

They  embrace  every  variety  of  subject  suited  to  the  lyric 
muse,  rising  to  the  grandest  subjects  of  history  and  my¬ 
thology,  and  sinking  to  the  simplest  themes  of  everyday  life. 


300 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


They  breathe  now  all  the  gayety,  now  all  the  sadness,  of 
the  ancient  mind,  with  a  charm  that  is  irresistible.  They 
exhibit  a  complete  mastery  over  the  Greek  metres;  and 
frequently  as  he  has  imitated,  and  adopted  the  very  ideas 
and  phrases  of,  the  Greek  lyrists,  they  are  made  so  com¬ 
pletely  his  own  that  they  seem  rather  improved  upon  than 
plagiarized.  His  odes,  indeed,  possess  a  delicacy  of  insight, 
a  fineness  of  touch,  and  a  power  of  minute  finish,  which 
very  few  writers  have  ever  exhibited,  and  which  have  ren¬ 
dered  them  models  of  construction,  valuable  to  poets  of  every 
school,  having  been  no  less  carefully  studied  by  Wordsworth 
than  by  Pope. 

The  literature  pertaining  to  Horace  in  modern  Europe 
is  enormous,  no  ancient  writer  having  been  more  studied 
and  commented  upon,  or  more  frequently  translated. 

FROM  THE  EPISTLES. - ON  THE  REGULATION  OF  THE  MIND. 

“We  are  but  worthless  ciphers;  things  just  born 
To  waste  the  fruits  of  earth;  luxurious  suitors 
Of  a  Penelope;  vile  prodigals; 

Trim  courtiers  of  Alcin'ous,  who  show 
In  their  plump  ease,  the  superfluity 
Of  daintiness;  who  deem  it  true  delight 
To  slumber  till  the  noon,  and  soothe  away, 

To  sounds  of  tinkling  harps,  the  thoughts  of  care. 
******** 

The  deed  beguu 

Is  half  accomplished;  clare  then  to  be  wise; 

Begin;  the  man,  who  still  postpones  the  hour 
Of  living  well,  is  like  the  clown,  who  waits 
Till  the  whole  river  shall  have  flowed  away: 

The  rolling  river  glides  before  his  eyes, 

And  so  shall  glide,  for  ever  and  for  ever. 

Spurn  guilty  pleasures:  pleasure  is  but  pain 
If  bought  with  penitence.  The  covetous  man 
Is  ever  craving.  Set  a  certain  bound 
To  each  unruly  wish.  The  envious  wretch 
Grows  lean  by  gazing  on  another’s  fatness. 


HORACE. 


301 


No  tyrant  of  Sicilia  could  invent 
A  torment  worse  than  envy.  He  that  knows  not 
To  moderate  sudden  wrath,  shall  wish  undone 
That,  which  his  will  and  his  resentment  urge; 

And,  with  impatient  violence,  draw  on 
His  own  sure  punishment,  and  yet  his  hate 
Be  unrevenged.  All  anger  of  the  mind 
Is  a  short  madness.  Govern  then  the  mind; 

Which  must  obey,  or  gain  the  mastery: 

Bind  it  with  curbs,  and  fetter  it  with  chains. 

’Tis  thus  the  master  of  the  manege  forms 
The  docile  colt,  while  yet  his  mouth  is  soft, 

To  turn  the  way  the  rider  guides  the  rein : 

And  the  staunch  hound,  since  practiced  first  to  bay 
The  deer-skin  in  the  court,  with  well-trained  nose 
Hunts  in  the  woods.  Then  now,  ingenuous  boy! 
Now  lay  the  words  of  wisdom  to  thy  breast, 

While  yet  thy  breast  is  pure:  now  seek  thy  elders 
Who  can  instruct  thee:  the  new  cask  will  long 
Retain  the  flavor  which  it  first  imbibed.” 

FROM  THE  ODES. - ON  THE  LUXURY  OF  HIS  AGE. 

“  Its  regal  walls  the  mansion  rears, 

And  leaves  the  plow  a  scanty  rood; 

And,  like  the  Lucrine  lake,  appears 

The  spacious  fish-pool’s  widening  flood; 

A.nd  plantanes  wave  their  barren  lines, 

Where  elms  were  clasped  with  married  vines. 

Now  myrtles  bud,  and  violets  bloom; 

A  world  of  sweets  usurps  the  soil; 

And  breezes  scatter  waste  perfume 

Where  the  green  olive  gushed  with  oil; 

And  the  broad  laurel,  thickening,  weaves 
Against  the  sun  its  fence  of  leaves. 

Not  thus  did  Romulus  command, 

Not  such  was  bearded  Cato’s  law; 

The  ancient  worthies  of  the  land 
A  rule  of  life  far  different,  saw; 

Small  was  the  cost  they  called  their  own, 

But  vast  the  public  splendor  shone. 


Z  THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 

No  colonnade  of  private  men 

Admitted  wide  tlie  northern  air; 

The  turfy  hut  was  lawful  then, 

The  city  was  the  common  care; 

The  fanes  of  Gods  were  seen  to  shine 
With  marble  chiseled  from  the  mine.” 

TO  PYRRHA. 

“  What  shapely  youth,  on  heaps  of  roses  laid, 

And  bathed  with  dropping  odors,  wooes  thee  now 
In  gloom  of  pleasant  grot?  for  whom  dost  thou 
Thy  yellow  locks,  oh  Pyrrlia,  backward  braid 
So  simply  elegant?  how  oft  shall  he 

On  woman’s  faith,  and  changed  Gods  bewail; 

And  view,  with  unaccustomed  wonder  pale, 

The  winds  scowl  dark  upon  the  troubled  sea? 

Who,  credulous,  in  thy  gilded  beauty  blest, 

Now  fondly  deems  thou  shalt  forever  prove 
Thus  amiable,  thus  open  to  his  love; 

TJnweeting  of  the  gale’s  fallacious  rest. 

Ah  wretches!  that  with  inexperienced  eye 

Gaze  that  serenest  brow !  I,  shipwrecked,  flee, 
With  painted  storm,  to  the  strong  God  of  sea, 

And  hang  my  dank  weeds  in  his  temple  high.” 

% 

TO  M^ECe'nAS. 

“For  thee,  within  my  mansion,  wait 
A  virgin  cask  of  mellow  wine; 

Rose-buds  and  essence  of  the  date 
To  scent  thy  hair,  oh  Prince  of  Tuscan  line! 

Leave  thy  satiety  of  state, 

Thy  tower,  that  touches  on  the  clouds; 

Nor  muse  on  prosperous  Rome,  elate, 

Her  smoke,  her  pomp,  the  clamor  of  her  crowds. 

The  rich  have  found  these  changes  sweet; 

And  pure  and  homely  meals,  that  know 
Nor  tapestried  walls,  nor  purple  seat, 

Have  smoothed  to  gayety  the  wrinkled  brow. 


OVID. 


303 


The  present,  calm  and  wise,  dispose; 

The  rest  is  carried  spite  of  thee; 

Even  as  a  river  level  flows, 

In  peaceful  channel,  to  the  Tuscan  sea: 

But,  chafed  by  floods,  it  saps  the  rocks, 

And,  headlong,  from  the  crumbling  shore 

Rolls  shattered  trees,  and  huts,  and  flocks; 

The  neighboring  woods  and  mountains  swell  the  roar. 

He’s  master  of  himself,  who  cries, 

Rejoicing,  ‘I  have  lived  to-day’; 

Let  Jove  o’ercloud  to-morrow’s  skies, 

Or  clear  expand  them  in  the  sunny  ray; 

But  not  Omnipotence  has  power 
To  make  the  backward  blessing  void; 

New  form  the  past  and  fleeted  hour, 

Or  bid  the  joys  that  were,  be  unenjoyed. 

Fortune,  whom  busy  mischiefs  please, 

Still  willful  bent  on  taunting  wiles; 

Transfers  her  gifts  from  those  to  these, 

To  me,  and  to  another,  throws  her  smiles. 

I  praise  her  stay;  but  if  she  shake 
Her  wings,  I  bid  her  favors  fly; 

Wrapt  in  my  virtue,  refuge  take, 

And  hug  my  honest,  dowerless  poverty.” — Elton. 

OY'ID. 

BORN  43  B.C. 

P.  Ovid'ius  Na'so,  was  born  at  Sulmo,  a  town  about 
ninety  miles  distant  from  Rome,  of  a  family  which  had  been 
noble  for  some  generations.  While  quite  young  he  and  his 
brother  were  sent  to  Rome,  where  the  elder  studied  rhetoric, 
but  died  at  the  age  of  twenty.  Ovid,  tod,  for  a  time,  pur¬ 
sued  the  same  study,  and  became  proficient  in  declamation. 
Seneca,  who  had  heard  him  declaim,  says  of  him:  “The 
style  of  Ovid  could  at  that  time  be  termed  nothing  else  but 
poetry  in  prose.” 


304 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


By  the  death  of  his  brother  Ovid  inherited  all  his  father’s 
«/ 

property,  and  went,  for  the  purpose  of  completing  his 
studies,  to  Athens,  where  he  became  a  thorough  master  of 
the  Greek  language.  He  afterward  made  a  tour  in  Asia 
and  Sicily,  whence  he  returned  to  Rome  to  pursue  the  life 
of  an  indolent  and  licentious  man  of  letters. 

Here  his  rank,  fortune  and  talents  brought  him  into 
the  highest  society,  and  made  him  the  familiar  friend  of  the 
best  poets  of  the  day.  His  juvenile  poems  became  very 
popular  while  he  was  yet  extremely  young.  Indeed  he 
burned  all  that  displeased  him,  and  only  published  such  as 
suited  his  fastidious  taste.  At  the  same  time  he  was  fre¬ 
quently  careless  in  his  language,  and  could  hardly  be  in¬ 
duced  to  correct  a  poem  once  written.  The  following 
amusing  anecdote  is  told  of  him.  Being  once  requested  by 
his  friends  to  erase  three  lines  from  a  poem,  he  consented 
on  condition  that  he  should  make  an  exception  in  favor  of 
three  lines  which  he  wished  to  retain.  He  accordingly 
wrote  down  the  three  he  wished  preserved,  and  his  friends 
the  three  they  wished  erased.  On  comparing  the  papers  it 
was  found  that  they  each  contained  the  same  lines. 

His  father,  who  was  a  man  of  practical  ideas,  objected  to 
his  son’s  entering  the  barren  and  unprofitable  service  of  the 
Muses,  and  Ovid  attempted  to  comply  with  his  wishes,  and 
to  write  in  prose.  It  was  all  in  vain;  his  words  spontane¬ 
ously  flowed  into  numbers,  and  all  he  tried  to  say  became 
poetry.  He  never  took  the  seat  in  the  Senate  to  which  his 
rank  entitled  him,  but  devoted  all  his  time  to  his  favorite 
pursuit,  and  to  the  habits  of  a  dissolute  life. 

Ovid  for  many  years  lived  in  easy  enjoyment,  in  the  pos¬ 
session  of  a  beautiful  mansion  in  Rome  and  an  estate  in  his 
native  town.  He  was  married  three  times,  but  did  not 
seem  suited  for  a  wedded  life,  as  he  divorced  his  first  two 
wives,  though  he  appears  to  have  had  a  stronger  love  for 
the  third. 


OVID. 


305 


This  sunny  life  was  destined  to  come  to  an  end.  After 
he  had  reached  his  fiftieth  year  he  incurred,  in  some  un¬ 
known  way  (possibly  by  an  intrigue  in  the  imperial  family), 
the  anger  of  Augustus,  and  was  banished  to  Tomi,  a  town 
of  a  rude,  inhospitable  country  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Danube. 

In  this  inclement  climate  and  among  these  uncivilized 
people,  the  tenderly  nurtured  poet  languished  for  ten  years, 
preyed  upon  by  anxiety,  languor,  loss  of  sleep  and  of  appe¬ 
tite,  and  general  hopelessness.  Here  he  died,  in  his  sixtieth 
year,  the  Tomitae,  who  had  learned  to  honor  and  respect 
him,  erecting  a  tomb  to  his  memory. 

All  the  extant  poems  of  Ovid,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Metamorphoses,  are  in  the  elegiac  metre,  which  was,  at  that 
time,  most  in  vogue.  One  of  his  earliest  works  is  the 
Amoves ,  a  collection  of  elegies,  licentious  in  tone,  but  full 
of  freshness,  grace  and  buoyancy.  There  are  also  twenty- 
one  Epistolm  Her  odium,  a  series  of  passionate  love  letters, 
to  and  from  women  of  the  Heroic  Age.  These  are  his  most 
polished  productions,  and  have  been  most  popular  next  to 
the  Metamorphoses. 

The  Art  of  Love ,  the  work  whose  immoral  nature  was 
the  reason  assigned  for  his  banishment,  though  it  had  been 
published  ten  years  before,  is  a  gross  production,  addressed 
only  to  the  most  dissolute  of  either  sex.  It  was  followed 
by  the  Remedies  of  Love. 

The  Fasti  is  a  versified  Roman  calendar,  describing  the 
festivals,  and  the  myths  attached  to  them,  in  simple  and 
beautiful  narrative.  His  latest  works  were  the  Tristia  and 
the  Epistles  from  Pontus ,  which  are  full  of  the  gloom  and 
despair  of  his  period  of  exile,  and  destitute  of  his  early 
brilliancy  and  wit. 

His  most  valuable  production  is  the  Metamorphoses , 
which  was  just  finished  at  the  time  of  his  exile.  In  his 
despair  he  burnt  it,  but  fortunately  some  copies  escaped 
13* 


306 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


this  fate.  It  is  comprised  in  fifteen  books,  which  contain 
a  series  of  mythological  narratives,  from  the  earliest  times 
to  the  translation  of  the  soul  of  Julius  Caesar,  and  his 
metamorphosis  into  a  star. 

This  work  approaches  as  near  to  the  epic  as  its  discon¬ 
nected  episodes  permit,  and  is  full  of  picturesque  truthful¬ 
ness  and  force.  It  shows  to  what  an  extent  Greek  literature 
was  studied  by  the  Romans,  and  yields  us  a  fuller  knowledge 
of  their  mythology  than  the  Greeks  themselves  give  us,  the 
sources  of  his  information  being  no  longer  extant. 

As  a  poet,  Ovid  has  always  been  admired;  his  facility  of 
composition,  lively  fancy,  and  musical  versification,  having 
made  him  a  favorite  of  poets  from  Milton  downward.  His 
wit  was  sometimes  contrary  to  good  taste,  but  it  was  not 
forced  or  unnatural,  and  his  occasional  carelessness  was 
atoned  for  by  his  usual  neatness  and  beauty.  Besides  the 
poems  above  mentioned  there  are  several  minor  ones,  and 
a  tragedy,  the  Medea ,  which  was  admired  by  the  ancients, 
but  of  which  only  two  lines  remain. 

FROM  THE  METAMORPHOSES. - THE  CREATION. 

“  Earth,  air  and  sea,  and  covering  heavens  were  known. 

The  face  of  nature  o’er  the  world,  was  one; 

And  men  have  called  it  Chaos;  formless,  rude, 

The  mass;  dead  matter’s  weight,  inert  and  crude; 

Where,  in  mixed  heap  of  ill-compounded  mould, 

The  jarring  seeds  of  things  confusedly  rolled. 

No  sun  yet  beamed  from  yon  caerulean  height; 

No  orbing  moon  repaired  her  horns  of  light; 

No  earth,  self-poised,  on  liquid  ether  hung; 

No  sea  its  world-enclasping  waters  flung; 

Earth  was  half-air,  half-sea;  an  embryo  heap; 

Nor  earth  was  fixed,  nor  fluid  was  the  deep; 

Dark  was  the  void  of  air;  no  form  was  traced; 

Obstructing  atoms  struggled  through  the  waste; 

Where  hot  and  cold,  and  moist  and  dry  rebelled; 

Heavy  the  light,  and  hard  the  soft  repelled. 


OVID. 


307 


Some  better  Nature,  or  some  Gocl  was  lie, 

That  laid  the  strife,  and  severed  earth  from  sea, 

The  sky  from  earth,  and  ether’s  liquid  glow 
From  the  dim  atmosphere  of  clouds  below. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

First,  lest  the  earth  should  disproportioned  fall, 

The  rounded  mass  he  gathered  in  a  ball ; 

Diffused  the  seas,  to  heave  with  every  blast, 

And  round  the  shores  their  ambient  waters  cast. 

He  added  many  a  fount  and  spacious  lake; 

Banked  the  slope  streams,  that  serpent-windings  take; 
Now  sink,  absorbed  in  earth;  now  seaward  pour, 

And  beat  for  banks  the  expanded  ocean  shore; 

Bade  champaigns  spread ;  bade  valleys  downward  bend ; 
Woods  foliaged  branch,  and  rocky  hills  ascend. 

4c  4c  4c  4;  4c  4c 

There  wanted,  yet,  among  terrestrial  kind, 

A  holier  creature,  and  enlarged  with  mind. 

One  o’er  the  rest  to  stretch  his  lordly  sway: 

Then  man  uprising  saw  the  face  of  day. 

Whether  that  mighty  mechanist  of  things, 

From  whom  this  better  world  of  Older  springs, 

Formed  him  of  seeds  divine;  or  earth,  from  sky 
Late  severed,  glowed  with  lingering  sparks  from  high: 
The  God  Prometheus  mixed  with  streams  the  clay, 

Thus  inly  heated  with  the  kindred  ray; 

While  from  his  moulding  hands  a  form  was  given, 

The  seal  and  image  of  the  Gods  in  heaven.” 


FROM  THE  REMEDY  OF  LOVE. 

“  Take  ease  away,  and  snapt  is  Cupid’s  bow, 

And  dim,  despised,  his  deadened  torches  glow. 

Planes  shade  their  banks;  in  streams  the  poplar  laves; 
The  reed’s  moist  stem  in  marshy  meadows  waves; 

So  Venus  joys  in  ease;  to  end  your  love, 

Let  busy  scenes  your  active  ardor  prove. 

4S  4«  *  4«  *  sis  4« 

Haste,  yoke  thy  oxen,  let  the  crooked  share 
Bend  the  hard  ground ;  in  crumbling  furrows  strew 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


The  buried  seed,  and  claim  the  harvest’s  due. 

See  ponderous  apples  bend  the  pliant  spray; 

The  o’erladen  branches  with  their  burden  sway. 

See  the  slant  brooks  in  bubbling  murmurs  glide; 

See  nibbling  flocks  that  range  their  grassy  side. 

The  shepherd  pipes  his  reed  beneath  the  shade, 
While  at  his  feet  the  watchful  dogs  are  laid ; 

For  her  stray  calf  the  heifer  lows  around, 

And  woodland  echoes  deepen  to  the  sound. 

Thyself  mayst  set  the  plant  and  guide  thy  rill, 
Whose  freshening  gushes  through  thy  garden  trill; 
And  graft  the  adopted  bough,  whose  leaves  unknown 
Shall  clothe  the  tree  with  foliage  not  its  own. 

When  once  these  pleasing  cares  the  soul  surprise, 
Love  shakes  his  fluttering  wings,  and  powerless  flies. 
Or  let  the  chase  invite  thee  to  the  field ; 

Venus  to  Dian  shall  inglorious  yield; 

Now  with  staunch  beagles  track  the  doubling  hare; 
Now  spread  on  woody  slope  the  meshy  snare; 

With  motly-featliered  net  amaze  the  deer, 

And  lance  the  wild  boar  with  thy  thrusting  spear. 
The  wearied  man  for  no  proud  beauty  grieves; 

Night  brings  him  rest,  and  dewy  sleep  relieves. 
Lighter  the  employ,  yet  still  employ  is  there, 

With  limed  reeds,  or  noosing  string,  to  snare 
The  quivering  bird,  or  hide  in  tempting  bait 
The  barbed  hook,  when  fishes  gorge  their  fate. 

By  these,  by  those  beguiled,  unlearn  your  love. 

%i#  o.  a.  .i. 

*4* 

Hard  are  my  precepts?  Yes,  but  many  a  pain 
Must  oft  be  borne,  or  health  be  sought  in  vain. 

The  bitter  juice  with  hand  averse  is  poured; 

In  vain  the  patient  craves  the  foodful  board ; 

To  save  a  limb,  the  steel,  the  fire  we  brave; 

Our  thirst-parched  lips  in  sickness  shun  the  wave; 
For  thy  mind’s  health  then  dost  thou  pain  deny? 

Yet  know  the  mind  is  of  a  price  more  high.” 

TO  A  WAITING  MAID  WITH  TABLETS. 

“Oh!  skilled  the  straggling  locks  with  art  to  braid, 
Nap£!  too  noble  for  a  servile  maid! 


OVID. 


309 


That  oft  hast  spurred  Corinna's  wavering  will, 

To  my  fond  love’s  distresses  faithful  still ; 

Take  these  my  tablets,  scrawled  at  break  of  day; 

Give  in  thy  mistress’  hands;  forbear  delay; 

Say,  when  Corinna  asks,  ‘Is  Ovid  well?’ 

‘He  lives  in  hope’;  the  rest  the  wax  may  tell. 

But  while  I  speak  time  flies;  go,  give  with  speed 
The  note;  at  earliest  leisure  let  her  read. 

Mind  while  she  reads,  watch  close  her  brow,  her  eyes; 
The  future  limned  in  silent  features  lies. 

Let  her,  when  read,  a  lengthened  answer  trace; 

I  hate  the  waxen  tablet’s  glaring  space; 

Close  let  her  press  her  lines,  her  letters  write 
Even  on  the  edge,  that  I  may  strain  my  sight. 

Why  tire  her  fingers  with  the  pen  ?  the  sum 
Be  this,  the  eloquence  of  answer,  ‘  Come.’ 

With  laurel  then  will  I  the  tablets  twine, 

And  as  an  offering  lay  at  Venus’  shrine: 

Mean  maple-wood  no  more;  inscribed  above, 

‘Ovid  to  Venus  these,  true  ministers  of  love.’” — Elton. 


MINOR  POETS  OF  THE  GOLDEN  AGE. 


Contemporary  with  Catullus  was  a  number  of  other 
poets  of  some  note  in  their  day,  but  whose  works  have  not 
survived.  We  may  name  Calvus,  China,  Cato,  Valgius  and 
Varro. 

The  first  of  these  was  an  orator,  as  well  as  a  poet;  his  ora¬ 
tions  being,  indeed,  much  superior  to  his  poems.  His  verses, 
the  brief  fragments  of  which  are  very .  highly  praised  by 
Niebuhr,  were  similar  in  tone  to  those  of  Catullus.  China 
was  the  author  of  an  epic,  entitled  Smyrna ,  now  lost,  but 
greatly  esteemed  by  Virgil  and  Catullus.  Cato  was  a  gram¬ 
marian,  but  has  left  some  poems,  of  which  a  fragment, 
called  Dine ,  or  Curses,  has  been  ascribed  to  Virgil,  but  is 
far  from  reaching  his  level.  It  bestows  curses  on  his  lost 
home,  reft  from  him  by  military  confiscation,  and  bewails 
his  loss  of  rural  joys.  This  poem  is  now  ascribed  to  Cato  on 
little  other  grounds  than  that  it  cannot  belong  to  Virgil. 
In  regard  to  Valgius  we  know  nothing,  except  that  Pliny 
speaks  of  his  learning,  and  Horace  expresses  confidence  in 
his  critical  taste  and  judgment.  Varro’s  main  work  was  a 
translation  of  the  Argonautica  of  Apollonius.  He  also 
wrote  geographical  and  heroic  poems,  from  which  Virgil 
has  done  him  the  honor  to  plagiarize. 

Among  the  minor  poets  of  the  Augustan  age  we  may 
mention  Maecenas,  celebrated  for  his  munificent  encourage¬ 
ment  of  genius,  though  his  own  efforts  at  poetry  were 
excessively  weak. 

Three  others  of  some  note  in  the  same  period  were 
Valgius  Rufus,  Varius  and  Gallus.  The  first  of  these  was 

310 


MINOR  POETS  OF  THE  GOLDEN  AGE. 


311 


a  great  favorite  with  Horace,  but  none  of  his  verses  have 
stood  the  test  of  time.  Varius  shared  with  Virgil  and 
Horace  the  strong  friendship  of  Maecenas,  but  of  his  poems 
only  a  few  lines,  of  no  special  merit,  have  been  preserved. 
Gallus  was  more  distinguished  as  a  general  than  as  a  poet. 
He  wrote  four  books  of  elegies,  which  were  praised  by  his 
contemporaries,  but  have  not  survived. 

The  only  two  of  these  minor  poets  who  have  left  works 
of  any  value  were  Tibul'lus  and  Proper'  tiusi  Both  of 
these,  like  Virgil,  Horace  and  Cato,  suffered  from  the  loss 
of  their  estates  by  confiscation,  the  result  of  the  civil  wars 
of  that  period. 

There  are  four  books  of  poems  ascribed  to  Tibullus,  of 
which  two  only  are  genuine.  They  are  deficient  in  vigor, 
but  display  good  taste,  and  sweetness  and  tenderness  of 
tone.  Muretus  praises  his  simplicity,  and  his  natural  and 
unaffected  genius. 

Propertius  differed  from  the  other  Augustan  poets  in 
imitating  the  Alexandrian  writers  instead  of  the  authors 
of  the  earlier  age.  This  has  vitiated  the  value  of  his  works, 
which,  despite  their  grace  and  elegance,  display  neither  the 
tenderness  of  Tibullus  nor  the  facility  of  Ovid. 

TIBULLUS. - EXTRACT  FROM  PASTORAL  ELEGY. 

“  Let  others  pile  their  yellow  ingots  high, 

And  see  their  cultured  acres  round  them  spread ; 

While  hostile  borderers  draw  their  anxious  eye, 

And  at  the  trumpet’s  blast,  their  sleep  is  fled. 

Me  let  my  poverty  to  ease  resign; 

While  my  bright  hearth  reflects  its  blazing  cheer; 

In  season  let  me  plant  the  pliant  vine, 

And  with  light  hand  my  swelling  apples  rear. 

Content  with  little,  I  no  more  would  tread 

The  lengthening  road,  but  shun  the  summer  day 

Where  some  o’erbrancliing  tree  might  shade  my  head; 

And  watch  the  murmuring  rivulet  glide  away. 


312 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 

Be  this  my  lot;  be  his  the  unenvied  store, 

Who  the  dread  storm  endures,  and  raging  sea; 

Ah !  perish  emeralds  and  the  golden  store, 

If  one  fond  anxious  nymph  must  weep  for  me.” 

PROPERTIUS. - THE  EFFIGY  OF  LOVE. 

“  Had  lie  not  hands  of  rare  device,  whoe’er 
First  painted  love  in  figure  of  a  boy? 

He  saw  what  thoughtless  beings  lovers  were, 

Who  blessings  lose,  while  lightest  cares  employ. 

Nor  added  he  those  airy  wings  in  vain, 

And  bade  through  human  hearts  the  godhead  fly; 
For  we  are  tost  upon  a  wavering  main ; 

Our  gale,  inconstant,  veers  around  the  sky. 

Nor,  without  cause,  he  grasps  those  barbed  darts, 

The  Cretan  quiver  o’er  his  shoulder  cast; 

Ere  we  suspect  a  foe,  he  strikes  our  hearts; 

And  those  inflicted  wounds  forever  last. 

In  me  are  fixed  those  arrows,  in  my  breast; 

But  sure  his  wings  are  shorn,  the  boy  remains; 

For  never  takes  he  flight,  nor  knows  he  rest; 

Still,  still  I  feel  him  warring  through  my  veins.” 

— Elton. 


EARLY  ROMAN  ORATORS. 


Eloquence,  rude  though  it  may  have  been,  must  have 
been,  at  an  early  period,  a  Roman  characteristic.  In  a 
republican  nation,  amid  a  free  people,  where  the  lowliest 
born  often  reached  the  loftiest  rank,  where  oppression 
kindled  the  fires  of  indignation,  and  where  an  incessant 
contention  between  plebeians  and  patricians  existed,  the 
art  of  the  orator  must  frequently  have  been  called  into 
requisition,  and  the  burning  tongue  of  eloquence  have 
wrought  the  half-barbarous  multitude  to  fury,  or  given 
to  the  army  the  spirit  that  achieved  victory. 

Such  speeches  probably  partook  of  the  vigorous,  direct, 
practical  nature  of  the  people;  rude  in  language,  empty 
of  rhetorical  ornament,  marked  only  by  the  simplicity  of 
pathos  or  the  brevity  of  passion.  The  first  speech  on 
record  is  one  made  by  Ap'pius  Clau'dius  Cse'cus  (the 
author  of  a  poem  to  which  reference  is  made  by  Cicero). 
This  was  delivered  against  the  celebrated  Macedonian 
ruler  Pyr'rhus,  represented  by  Cin'eas,  his  wily  minister. 
The  eloquence  of  the  blind  old  Roman  proved  so  powerful 
that  the  accomplished  Greek  was  obliged  to  quit  Rome 
without  gaining  the  peace  which  he  came  to  negotiate. 

Other  orators  of  note  in  these  early  days  were  Metul- 
lus,  the  two  Scipios,  Cato  the  censor,  the  celebrated  Grac¬ 
chi,  and  numerous  others  of  less  importance.  One  phrase 
exists,  showing  the  nervous  vigor  of  style  of  the  elder 
Scipio.  He  had  been  accused  of  peculation,  but  disdained 
to  answer  the  charges  of  his  malignant  opponent,  detailing, 

313 


314 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


instead,  at  length,  his  benefits  to  his  country.  He  closed 
as  follows: 

I  call  to  remembrance,  Romans,  that  this  is  the  very  day  on 
which  I  vanquished  in  a  bloody  battle  on  the  plains  of  Africa  the 
Carthaginian  Hannibal,  the  most  formidable  enemy  Rome  ever 
encountered.  I  obtained  for  you  a  peace  and  an  unlooked-for 
victory.  Let  us  then  not  be  ungrateful  to  heaven,  but  let  us  leave 
this  knave,  and  at  once  offer  our  grateful  thanksgivings  to  Jove, 
supremely  good  and  great. 

The  people  obeyed  his  summons  —  the  forum  was  de¬ 
serted,  and  crowds  followed  him  with  acclamations  to  the 
Capitol. 

M.  Anto'nius  was  the  first  of  the  celebrated  judicial 
orators,  being  particularly  marked  for  his  pathetic  power. 
Four  years  later  than  he,  in  140  b.c.,  Crassus,  the  most 
noted  of  the  early  orators,  was  born.  He  is  very  highly 
praised  by  Cicero,  who  could  scarcely  find  a  fault  in  his 
orations,  and  selected  him  to  represent  his  sentiments  in 
his  imaginary  conversations,  as  Plato  had  selected  Socrates. 

The  last  of  the  pre-Ciceronian  orators  was  Horten' sius. 
He  was  born  114  b.c.,  and  was  thus  a  contemporary  and 
rival  of  Cicero,  being  the  acknowledged  leader  of  the 
Roman  bar  until  his  great  successor  arose.  His  talents 
were  only  surpassed  by  those  of  the  latter,  with  whom, 
indeed,  he  usually  pleaded  in  common,  an  intimate  friend¬ 
ship  existing  between  them.  He  left  a  daughter,  whose 
eloquence  also  became  celebrated,  one  of  her  orations  being 
highly  praised  by  Quintilian.  The  defect  in  the  style  of 
Hortensius  seems  to  have  been  its  florid  manner,  which  was 
probably  carried  to  excess. 

Other  branches  of  literature,  incidental  to  oratory,  were 
jurisprudence,  which  the  Romans  systematically  studied, 
and  brought  to  a  state  of  great  perfection;  and  grammar, 
which  was  also  pursued  by  many  learned  men,  but  whose 
greatest  writer  was  Varro,  a  man  of  the  most  extensive 


CICERO. 


315 


learning  and  industry,  though  destitute  of  genius.  He  was 
employed  by  Caesar  in  the  formation  of  the  great  public 
library,  which  was  completed  by  Pollio,  a  man  of  great 
literary  merit. 

CIC'ERO. 

BORN  106  B.C. 

On  the  banks  of  the  gently  flowing  Li'ris,  near  Arpi'num, 
lived  a  Roman  knight  named  M.  Tullius  Cicero.  He  had 
two  sons,  the  elder,  who  bore  his  father’s  name,  being  born 
January  3,  106  b.c.  The  father  had  a  native  love  of  learn¬ 
ing,  and  seeing  the  same  faculty  in  his  boys,  he  removed  to 
Rome  when  the  elder  was  fourteen  years  of  age,  so  that  they 
might  have  the  benefit  of  the  best  schools.  Here  they  were 
instructed  in  Greek  literature,  and  in  all  the  arts  of  a  polite 
education. 

Afterward  Cicero  studied  philosophy  under  teachers  of 
three  separate  schools,  the  Epicurean,  the  Stoic,  and  the 
Academic;  thus  early  sustaining  his  opinion  that  an  orator 
should  have  almost  universal  information. 

He  performed  some  little  military  service,  but  passed 
most  of  his  time  in  study,  until  his  twenty-fifth  year,  when 
he  first  began  to  plead  in  public,  his  earliest  distinction  be¬ 
ing  attained  in  defending  Ros'cius,  a  private  citizen,  against 
one  of  the  favorites  of  the  dictator  Sulla.  Shortly  after  he 
went  to  Athens,  and  from  there  to  Asia  and  Rhodes,  occu¬ 
pying  himself  in  the  study  of  philosophy  and  oratory. 

His  first  public  office  was  as  governor  of  Sicily,  which  he 
filled  with  the  greatest  mildness,  integrity  and  judgment. 
After  his  return  to  Rome  he  defended  the  Sicilians  against 
their  oppressor,  Verres,  in  six  orations,  the  first  of  which 
was  so  powerful  as  to  drive  the  accused  into  voluntary  exile, 
without  waiting  for  the  others. 

But  the  greatest  triumph  of  Cicero  was  his  vigorous  con- 


316 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


test  against  the  conspirator  Cat'iline,  whose  treasonable 
effort  took  place  during  his  consulship. 

Formidable  as  was  this  conspiracy,  and  powerful  as  was 
its  leader  and  his  supporters,  Cicero,  armed  with  only  the 
spirit  of  a  patriot  and  the  genius  of  an  orator,  crushed  it 
with  remarkable  rapidity  and  thoroughness.  The  highest 
honors  were  showered  upon  Cicero,  he  was  hailed  as  the 
“  Father  of  his  country,”  and  public  thanksgivings  in  his 
name  were  voted  to  the  Gods. 

But  it  was  not  long  before  his  enemies  brought  a  charge 
against  him  of  having  executed  the  conspirators  without  a 
formal  trial,  and  an  edict  of  banishment  was  procured 
against  him.  This  exile  lasted  but  sixteen  months,  how¬ 
ever,  when  he  was  triumphantly  recalled  to  Rome.  His 
nex£  service  was  as  governor  of  Cilic'ia,  which  he  admirably 
filled. 

But  now  the  civil  war  between  Caesar  and  Pompey  was 
on  the  point  of  breaking  out.  Cicero,  with  the  weakness 
and  vacillation  which  he  often  displayed,  hesitated  to  join 
his  friend  Pompe}q  being  divided  between  the  questions  of 
principle  and  personal  safety.  He  finally  joined  the  army 
of  the  Senate,  but,  after  the  fatal  battle  of  Pharsa'ha, 
abruptly  quitted  it,  and  threw  himself  on  the  generosity  of 
the  conqueror.  Being  kindly  received  by  Caesar,  he  returned 
to  Rome,  where  he  passed  a  retired  life,  engaged  in  literary 
pursuits.  The  assassination  of  Caesar  threw  him  again  into 
the  political  field,  and  he  now  assailed  Antony  in  a  series  of 
the  most  vigorous  and  eloquent  speeches  —  those  known  as 
his  fourteen  Philippic  orations. 

The  result  was  fatal  to  the  orator.  The  second  trium¬ 
virate  was  formed,  each  member  of  it  giving  up  personal 
friends  to  the  vengeance  of  his  colleagues.  Octavius  vielded 
Cicero  to  his  incensed  foe  Antony.  The  old  man,  now  in 
his  sixty-third  year,  attempted,  at  the  entreaty  of  his 
brother,  to  escape;  but  he  was  overtaken  by  the  assassins, 


CICERO. 


317 


to  whose  violence  he  submitted  with  a  philosophic  courage, 
his  head  and  hands  being  cut  oft'  and  carried  to  Antony. 
They  were  fixed  on  the  rostrum  which  his  eloquence  had  so 
often  adorned,  and  where  all  who  saw  them  bewailed  his 
death  with  the  most  affectionate  feeling'. 

The  character  of  Cicero  is  easily  estimated.  Much  as  he 
loved  virtue,  he  needed  popular  applause  to  sustain  him  in 
any  dignified  course.  He  was  weak  where  his  private 
interests  opposed  his  public  duty,  and  was  destitute  of  any 
true  heroism.  He  had  undoubted  abilities  as  a  statesman, 
but  lacked  courage  and  resolution.  His  ruling  faults  were 
vanity,  timidity,  and  a  morbid  sensibility:  but  they  were 
offset  by  such  virtues  as  candor,  generosity,  purity  of  mind, 
and  warmth  of  heart.  As  an  advocate  it  was  his  delight  to 
defend,  not  to  accuse;  and  with  all  his  faults,  Rome  pos¬ 
sessed  few  such  noble  and  virtuous  souls  as  that  of  her  great 
orator. 

The  literary  labors  of  Cicero  were  numerous,  and  covered 
a  wide  field.  Of  t'liese  the  Orations , —  particularly  those 
against  Verres,  the  defense  of  Cluen'tius,  the  speech  for  the 
poet  Archias,  the  oration  pro  Cc&lio,  and  that  in  defense  of 
Milo, —  are  wonderful  specimens  of  oratorical  skill  and 
beauty;  as  also  the  Demosthenic  vigor  and  indignation  of 
the  speeches  against  Catiline,  and  the  celebrated  second 
Philippic. 

His  rhetorical  works  are  of  the  greatest  beauty  and 
value.  These  consist  of  De  Oratore;  Brutus  sice  de  Claris 
Oratoribus ,  and  Orator  ad  M.  Brutum ,  with  some  shorter 
treatises.  He  treats  the  subject  of  oratory  in  the  full 
Platonic  spirit,  investing  it  with  a  dramatic  interest,  and 
in  his  graphic  conversational  manner  transporting  the 
reader  into  the  midst  of  the  scenes  described. 

His  next  works  to  be  considered  are  his  philosophical 
treatises.  In  these  he  takes  the  true  Roman  standpoint, 
that  of  the  practical,  and  shows  clearly  the  inability  of  the 


318 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Roman  mind  for  any  abstruse  philosophical  speculation. 
As  we  have  seen,  he  had  made  a  thorough  study  of  the  lead¬ 
ing  Grecian  systems,  but  he  does  not  follow  them  into  any 
abstruse  reasonings,  his  creed  being  less  a  system  than  a 
collection  of  precepts,  of  no  original  value. 

The  study  of  his  works  is  valuable,  however,  as  they 
gave  the  tone  to  all  Roman  philosophy  after  his  time;  and 
the  most  of  the  middle-age  speculation  is  simply  Greek 
philosophy  filtered  through  the  Latin  mind.  His  works 
on  this  subject  consist  of  The  Academics ,  a  defense  of  the 
belief  of  the  New  Academy;  De  Finibus  Bonorurn  et  Ma- 
lorum ,  dialogues  on  the  supreme  good;  The  Tusculance 
Disputationes ,  five  treatises  on  philosophic  subjects;  Para- 
doxa ,  treating  on  the  stoical  paradoxes;  and  some  smaller 
works. 

He  has  left  two  political  works  —  De  Republica  and  De 
Legibus , —  in  imitation  of  the  similar  treatises  of  Plato; 
their  principles,  however,  being  derived  from  the  Roman 
laws  and  constitution.  Of  these  onlv  fragments  remain. 
They  are  written  in  the  form  of  dialogues,  and  are  very 
interesting. 

In  addition  to  the  above  works  are  his  Letters.  Cicero 
was  a  voluminous  letter  writer,  more  than  eight  hundred 
of  his  epistles  being  still  extant.  Most  of  them  were  never 
intended  for  publication,  yet  they  are  models  of  the  epis¬ 
tolary  art,  and  of  the  purest  Latinity,  being  written  in  a 
simple,  unaffected  style,  and  revealing  the  internal  nature 
and  the  social  life  of  their  author  with  the  most  engag- 

o  o 

ing  frankness. 

Cicero  may  be  claimed  as  not  only  the  representative 
of  the  most  flourishing  period  of  the  Latin  tongue,  but  as 
the  main  instrument  of  its  perfection.  He  freed  the  lan¬ 
guage  from  all  coarseness  and  harshness,  and  taught  the 
educated  classes  to  substitute  pure  sentiments  for  the  gross 
expressions  to  which  they  were  accustomed.  From  his  in- 


CICERO. 


319 


fluence  the  conversational  language  of  the  higher  classes 
became  in  the  greatest  degree  refined,  and  the  Latin  tongue 
purified  morally  as  well  as  aesthetically.  His  dialogues  pre¬ 
sent  us  with  conversations  on  all  the  worthiest  subjects  of 
thought,  and  enlivened  with  the  culture  of  all  the  pre¬ 
ceding  ages,  and  their  powerful  influence  is  shown  in  the 
literature  of  the  golden  age  of  Roman  thought,  of  which 
Cicero  was  the  fit  progenitor. 

In  oratory  he  combined  the  powers  of  the  most  cele¬ 
brated  Athenians,  uniting  the  force  of  Demosthenes  with 
the  elegance  of  Isocrates.  There  is  a  florid  exuberance 
in  his  style  that  sometimes  offends  against  just  taste,  but 
his  melody  of  language,  brilliancy  of  expression,  extensive 
knowledge,  and  thorough  acquaintance  with  human  nature, 
gave  his  speeches  a  charm  which  is  almost  as  convincing 
to  modern  readers  as  it  was  to  his  Roman  audiences. 

FROM  THE  ORATIONS  AGAINST  VERRES. 

As  it  happened  Verres  came  on  that  very  day  to  Messana.  The 
matter  is  brought  before  him.  He  was  told  that  the  man  was  a 
Roman  citizen;  was  complaining  that  at  Syracuse  he  had  been  con¬ 
fined  in  the  stone  quarries,  and  how  he,  when  he  was  actually  em¬ 
barking  on  board  ship  and  uttering  violent  threats  against  Verres, 
had  been  brought  back  by  them,  and  reserved  in  order  that  he 
might  himself  decide  what  should  be  done  with  him. 

He  thanks  the  men,  and  praises  their  good  will  and  diligence 
in  his  behalf.  He,  himself,  inflamed  with  wickedness  and  frenzy, 
came  into  the  forum.  His  eyes  glared;  cruelty  was  visible  in  his 
whole  countenance;  all  men  waited  to  see  what  steps  he  was  going 
to  take ;  what  he  was  going  to  do ;  when  all  of  a  sudden  he  orders 
the  man  to  be  seized,  and  to  be  stripped  and  bound  in  the  middle 
of  the  forum,  and  the  rods  to  be  got  ready.  The  miserable  man 
cried  out  that  he  was  a  Roman  citizen ;  a  citizen  also  of  the  mu¬ 
nicipal  town  of  Cosa;  that  he  had  served  with  Lucius  Pretius,  a 
most  illustrious  Roman  knight,  who  was  living  as  a  trader  at 
Panor'mus,  and  from  whom  Verres  might  know  that  he  was  speak¬ 
ing  the  truth. 


320 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Then  Verres  says  that  he  has  ascertained  that  he  was  sent  into 
Sicily  by  the  leaders  of  the  runaway  slaves,  in  order  to  act  as  a 
spy;  a  matter  as  to  which  there  was  no  evidence,  no  trace,  nor 
even  the  slightest  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  any  one.  Then  he 
orders  the  man  to  be  most  violently  scourged  on  all  sides,— in  the 
middle  of  the  forum  of  Messana,  a  Roman  citizen,  O  judges,  was 
beaten  with  rods!  while,  in  the  meantime,  no  groan  was  heard, 
no  other  expression  was  heard  from  that  wretched  man,  amid  all 
his  pain,  and  between  the  sounds  of  the  blows,  except  these  words: 
“  I  am  a  citizen  of  Rome !  ” 

He  fancied  that  by  this  one  statement  of  his  citizenship  he 
could  ward  off  all  blows,  and  remove  all  torture  from  his  person. 
He  not  only  did  not  succeed  in  averting  by  his  entreaties  the  vio¬ 
lence  of  the  rods,  but  as  he  kept  on  repeating  his  entreaties,  and 
the  assertion  of  his  citizenship,  a  cross — a  cross,  I  say — was  got 
ready  for  that  miserable  man,  who  had  never  witnessed  such  a 
stretch  of  power. 

O  the  sweet  name  of  Liberty!  O  the  admirable  privileges  of  our 
citizenship!  O  Porciau  law!  O  Sempronian  laws!  O  power  of  the 
tribunes,  bitterly  regretted  by  and  at  last  restored  to  the  Roman 
people!  —  in  a  town  of  our  confederate  allies  —  a  Roman  citizen 
should  be  bound  in  the  forum  and  beaten  with  rods,  by  a  man  who 
only  had  the  fasces  and  axes  through  the  kindness  of  the  Roman 
people ! 

If  the  bitter  entreaties  and  the  miserable  cries  of  that  man  had 
no  power  to  restrain  you,  were  you  not  moved  even  by  the  weeping 
and  loud  cries  of  the  Roman  citizens  who  were  present  at  the  time? 
Did  you  dare  to  drag  any  one  to  the  cross  who  said  he  was  a  Roman 
citizen  ? — Guthrie. 

NATURE  AND  ART  IN  HARMONY. 

How  wonderful  is  the  vegetable  creation  !  Where  there  is  not  a 
stock,  there  is  not  a  bough,  no,  nor  a  leaf,  which  does  not  operate 
in  preserving  and  propagating  its  own  nature,  yet  all  is  beauty.  Let 
us  pass  from  nature  to  the  arts:  In  a  ship  what  is  more  necessary 
than  the  sides,  the  keel,  the  prow,  the  stern,  the  yards,  the  sails,  the 
masts?  Yet  altogether  they  appear  so  comely  that  they  seem  as 
designed  not  for  preservation  only,  but  for  beauty. 

Pillars  support  porticoes  and  temples,  yet  they  are  not  more 
graceful  than  they  are  useful.  It  was  not  beauty,  but  necessity, 
that  contrived  the  noble  cupola  of  the  Capitol,  and  of  other  sacred 


CICERO. 


321 


structures.  For  in  the  contrivance  liow  to  let  the  rain  off  on  each 
side  of  the  edifice,  the  very  form  in  which  this  was  brought  about, 
created  the  lofty  appearance  it  makes;  so  that,  though  the  Capitol 
stood  in  the  heavens,  where  no  rain  could  fall,  the  majesty  of  its 
structure  would  be  lost  without  its  cupola. 

The  same  observation  holds  good  with  regard  to  eloquence, 
almost  through  all  its  parts;  for  there  wit  and  harmony  almost 
attend  utility,  and,  I  may  say,  necessity.  For  the  steps  and  divi¬ 
sions  of  periods  were  first  introduced  for  recovering  the  breath,  and 
sparing  the  lungs;  and  yet  in  their  own  nature  they  are  so  musical 
that,  though  one’s  lungs  were  inexhaustible,  yet  we  should  not  wish 
for  a  continuation  of  its  style  without  any  stops.  Such  a  sympathy 
exists  betwixt  what  is  agreeable  to  our  ears  and  what  is  not  only 
possible  but  easy  for  our  lungs. — Guthrie. 

EXTRACT  FROM  LETTER  TO  MARCUS  MARIUS. 

While  you  were  employing  the  rest  of  the  day  in  these  various 
polite  amusements  which  you  have  the  happy  privilege  to  plan  out 
for  yourself,  we  alone  had  the  mortification  of  tamely  enduring  those 
dramatical  representations  to  which  Martius,  it  seems,  our  professed 
critic,  had  given  his  infallible  sanction.  But  as  you  will  have  the 
curiosity,  perhaps,  to  require  a  more  particular  account,  1  must  tell 
you  that,  though  our  entertainments  were  very  magnificent  indeed, 
yet  they  "were  by  no  means  such  as  you  would  have  relished,  at  least 
if  I  may  judge  of  your  taste  by  my  own. 

Some  of  those  actors  who  had  formerly  distinguished  themselves 
with  great  plays,  but  had  long  since  retired,  I  imagined,  in  order  to 
preserve  the  reputation  they  had  raised,  were  now'  again  introduced 
upon  the  stage,  as  in  honor,  it  seems,  of  the  festival. 

Among  them  was  my  old  friend  Ahsopus,  but  so  different  from 
what  he  was  that  the  whole  audience  cried  that  he  ought  to  be 
excused  from  acting  any  more,  for  when  he  was  pronouncing  the 
celebrated  “  If  I  deceive,  be  Jove’s  dread  vengeance  hurled,”  etc., 
the  poor  old  man’s  voice  left  him,  and  he  had  not  strength  to  go 
through  with  the  speech. 

As  to  the  other  parts  of  our  theatrical  entertainment  you  know 
the  nature  of  them  so  well  that  it  is  scarce  necessary  to  mention 
them.  The  enormous  parade  with  which  they  were  attended,  and 
which,  I  dare  say,  you  would  very  willingly  have  spared,  destroyed 
all  the  grace  of  the  performance.  What  pleasure  could  it  afford  to 


322 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


the  judicious  spectator  to  see  a  thousand  mules  prancing  about  the 
stage  in  the  tragedy  of  Clytemnestra  ?  or  whole  regiments  accoutred 
in  foreign  armor,  in  that  of  the  Trojan  Horse? 

In  a  word,  what  man  of  sense  could  be  entertained  with  viewing 
a  mock  army  drawn  up  on  the  stage  in  battle  array  ?  These,  I  con¬ 
fess,  are  spectacles  extremely  well  adapted  to  captivate  vulgar  eyes, 
but  undoubtedly  would  have  had  no  charm  in  yours. — Melmoth. 


THE  EARLIER  ROMAN  HISTORIANS. 


Prose,  far  more  than  poetry,  was  in  accordance  with 
the  genius  of  the  Romans.  They  lacked  ideality  or  imagi¬ 
native  power,  and  held  the  useful  in  far  higher  esteem 
than  the  beautiful.  They  were  vigorous  and  just  thinkers, 
hut  not  inclined  to  philosophy  or  intellectual  invention; 
their  practical  disposition  giving  them  a  much  stronger 
bias  to  historical  and  legal  pursuits  than  to  culture  of  the 
imagination. 

History,  moreover,  had  the  advantage  over  other  branches 
of  literature,  that  it  was  not  left  to  the  hands  of  slaves 
and  freedmen,  being  considered  as  a  pursuit  worthy  of  the 
noblest  Roman  ;  its  first  writers,  Fabius  Pictor,  Cincius 
Alimentus  and  others  being  of  equestrian  families. 

The  first  historical  labors  were  of  the  nature  of  simple 
annals,  and  were  largely  devoted  to  the  .  transfer  of  poetic 
legends  into  prose,  as  their  most  popular  vehicle.  Neglect¬ 
ing  ornament,  they  cared  only  to  be  intelligible,  and  con¬ 
sidered  that  the  chief  excellence  of  a  writer  was  brevity, 
their  works  being  destitute  of  picturesque  detail  or  political 
reflection. 

Fa'bius  Pic' tor,  a  contemporary  of  Nsevius,  the  dramatic 
artist,  and  a  member  of  the  noble  family  of  the  Fabii,  was 
the  most  ancient  of  Roman  historians.  This  is  unfortunate, 
as  later  historians  have  copied  freely  from  him,  and  have 
repeated  his  heterogeneous  mass  of  facts  and  fables;  which 
latter  might  have  been  entirely  avoided  had  he  possessed 
the  judgment  and  care  to  investigate  the  important  original 
records  then  in  existence. 


323 


324 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


His  work  on  early  Roman  history  was  followed  by  that 
of  Cin'cius  Alimen'tus,  on  the  second  Punic  war.  The 
accurate  study  by  the  latter  of  original  monuments  gave 
value  to  his  chapter  on  early  Roman  history;  as  did  his 
participation  in  the  war,  and  his  being  a  prisoner  to  Han¬ 
nibal,  to  his  account  of  the  events  of  the  Carthaginian 
invasion  of  Italy.  These  works,  however,  were  bare  rec¬ 
ords  of  facts,  —  the  mere  frame- work  of  history.  It  is  to 
the  celebrated  Ca'to  Censor'ius  that  we  must  look  for  any¬ 
thing  more  truly  worthy  of  the  name. 

This  remarkable  man,  who  was  born  234  b.c.,  was  nota¬ 
ble  alike  for  his  learning,  his  lofty  standard  of  morality, 
and  his  versatility  of  talent.  He  was  of  an  ancient  and 
distinguished  family ;  became  a  soldier  while  yet  young, 
and  soon  afterward  rose  to  eminence  as  a  pleader  in  the 
courts  of  law.  After  holding  various  offices  of  honor  he 
was  elected  censor  in  184  b.c.  This  high  position  was 
exactlv  suited  to  his  talents,  and  he  discharged  it  with  an 

•j  7  O 

activity,  fearlessness  and  integrity  which  have  gained  him 
the  highest  fame. 

As  a  literary  man  Cato  was  possessed  of  great  ability. 
His  style  had  the  rugged,  unpolished  directness  of  his  char¬ 
acter,  but  was  clear,  striking  and  lively  in  treatment.  He 
seems  to  have  written  on  a  variety  of  subjects,  as  politics, 
war,  rural  economy,  oratory  and  history,  all  treated  in  a 
direct  and  original  manner. 

His  historical  work,  the  Oriyines,  or  Antiquities ,  is  un¬ 
fortunately  lost,  with  the  exception  of  some  brief  fragments. 
His  learning  has  been  highly  praised  by  Cicero,  Cornelius 
Nepos  and  Livy,  but  there  is  some  doubt  as  to  the  historical 
value  of  his  work.  Its  most  valuable  feature  was  its  re¬ 
searches  into  the  constitutions  of  Rome,  Italy  and  Carthage. 
These  were  probably  the  result  of  original  and  carefully 
conducted  investigation. 

One  of  the  longest  of  the  extant  fragments  describes  the 


THE  EARLIER  ROMAN  HISTORIANS. 


325 


following  act  of  self-devoted  heroism:  A  consular  army 
was  surrounded  by  the  Carthaginians  in  a  defile,  from 
which  there  was  no  escape.  The  tribune,  whom  Cato  does 
not  name,  advised  the  consul  to  send  four  hundred  men  to 
occupy  a  certain  height.  The  enemy,  he  said,  will  attack 
them,  and  they  will  be  slain  to  a  man.  But  while  the  foe 
is  thus  occupied  the  army  will  escape.  But  who,  asked  the 
consul,  will  lead  this  band?  “  I  will,”  said  the  tribune.  “  I 
devote  my  life  to  you  and  to  my  country.”  The  brave 
band  set  forth  to  die.  They  sold  their  lives  dearly,  yet  all 
fell.  But  the  army  was  saved. 

“  The  immortal  Gods,”  adds  Cato,  “  granted  the  tribune 
a  lot  according  to  his  valor.  For  thus  it  came  to  pass: 
though  he  had  received  many  wounds  none  proved  mortal; 
and  when  his  comrades  recognized  him  amoncr  the  dead, 
faint  from  loss  of  blood,  they  took  him  up  and  he  recov¬ 
ered.  Leonidas,  of  Lacedaemon,  is  praised,  who  performed 
a  similar  exploit  at  Thermopylae.  On  account  of  his  valor 
united  Greece  testified  her  gratitude  in  every  possible  way, 
and  adorned  his  exploit  with  monumental  records,  pictures, 
statues,  eulogies,  histories.  The  Roman  tribune  gained  but 
faint  praise,  and  yet  he  had  done  the  same  thing  and  saved 
the  republic.” 

The  only  extant  work  of  Cato  is  De  Re  Rustica ,  an  agri¬ 
cultural  treatise,  devoted,  in  the  most  commonplace  manner, 
to  the  most  commonplace  details  of  a  farmer’s  life. 

This  earlier  period  of  historical  literature  comprises  a 
large  number  of  names  of  other  writers,  whose  works,  how¬ 
ever,  like  those  of  the  authors  already  named,  are  all  lost. 

Of  these  the  most  important  were  Cae'lius  Antip'ater 
and  Lucius  Sisen'na.  The  former  is  praised  by  Vale'rius 
Max'imus  for  his  accuracy,  particularly  in  regard  to  the 
crossing  of  the  Alps  by  Hannibal;  while  the  latter  wrote  a 
history  of  the  civil  war  between  Marius  and  Sylla,  which  is 
praised  in  the  highest  terms  by  Cicero  and  Sallust.  Its  loss 


326 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


is  the  greatest  misfortune  in  the  general  disappearance  of 
the  early  Roman  historians. 

In  the  Augustan  age  arose  a  number  of  valuable  his¬ 
torians,  whose  treatment  of  their  subjects  was  of  a  high 
order  of  merit.  In  this  field  Rome  not  merely  imitated, 
but  rivaled,  and  sometimes  surpassed,  the  Greeks.  The  sim¬ 
plicity  of  Caesar  is  as  attractive  as  that  of  Herodotus;  Livy’s 
picturesqueness  equals  that  of  the  best  Greek  historians; 
and  Tacitus,  in  condensation,  vigor  and  philosophical  judg¬ 
ment,  is  not  inferior  to  Thucydides. 

The  most  important  historians  of  this  age  were  Cornelius 
Nepos,  Caesar,  Sallust  and  Livy;  whom  we  will  consider 
more  at  length. 

CORNE'LIUS  NE'POS. 

FLOURISHED  ABOUT  60  B.C. 

Of  the  first  of  the  above  mentioned  historians  we  know 
neither  the  date  nor  place  of  birth.  We  only  know  that 
he  was  a  contemporary  and  friend  of  Cicero  and  Catullus, 
and  lived  until  the  sixth  year  of  the  reign  of  Augustus. 
The  prevailing  opinion  is  that  he  was  born  either  at  Verona, 
or  at  a  neighboring  village.  Beyond  these  few  facts  we 
know  nothing  of  his  personal  history. 

All  of  his  works  of  which  ancient  writers  have  made 
mention  are  unfortunately  lost,  and  that  which  goes  by  his 
name  is  of  very  doubtful  authenticity.  These  lost  works 
were  three  books  of  Chronicles ,  being  an  abridgment  of 
Universal  History  ;  five  books  of  anecdotes,  called  De  Viris 
III  ust  ribas ;  a  Life  of  Cicero ;  and  De  Historicus ,  or  Memoirs 
of  Historians. 

The  work  now  extant  is  entitled  The  Lives  of  Eminent 
Generals.  Besides  biographies  of  twenty  generals,  it  con¬ 
tains  accounts  of  some  celebrated  monarchs,  and  lives  of 
Hamilcar,  Hannibal,  Cato  and  Atticus. 

Until  the  sixteenth  century  this  work  was  ascribed  to 


CORNELIUS  NEPOS. 


327 


iEmil'ius  Pro' bus,  a  writer  of  the  fourth  century,  whose 
name  is  prefixed  to  a  dedication  to  the  Emperor  Theodo'- 
sius.  But  at  this  period  the  celebrated  scholar  Lambinus, 
arguing  from  its  purity  of  style  and  the  excellence  of  its 
Latin,  declared  that  it  could  not  have  been  written  at  the 
date  ascribed  to  it,  and  pronounced  it  to  be,  in  reality,  the 
lost  work  of  Nepos,  De  Viris  Illustribus.  There  is  other 
evidence  in  favor  of  this  hypothesis,  and  the  probability  is 
that  it  is  an  abbreviation,  made  by  Probus,  of  the  work  in 
question. 

These  biographies,  whether  rightfully  attributed  to  Ne¬ 
pos  or  not,  are  beautifully  written,  being  distinguished  by 
the  purity  of  their  Latin,  their  concise  and  chaste  style, 
and  their  admirable  character  drawing,  which  renders  them 
models  of  their  class  of  composition.  Their  defects  are, 
lack  of  carefulness  in  the  examination  of  authorities,  and 
of  regard  for  the  relative  importance  of  occurrences. 

There  are  many  modern  editions  of  the  work,  and  it  is 
in  general  use  as  a  school  book.  We  extract  his  account 
of  Aristides. 

aristi'des. 

Aristides,  the  son  of  Lysim'aclms,  a  native  of  Athens,  was  almost 
of  the  same  age  with  Themis'tocles,  and  contended  with  him,  con 
sequently,  for  preeminence,  as  they  were  determined  rivals,  one  to 
the  other;  and  it  was  seen  in  their  case  how  much  eloquence  could 
prevail  over  integrity;  for  though  Aristides  was  so  distinguished 
for  uprightness  of  conduct,  that  he  was  the  only  person  in  the  mem¬ 
ory  of  man  (as  far  at  least  as  I  have  heard)  who  was  called  by  the 
surname  of  Just,  yet,  being  overborne  by  Tliemistocles  with  the 
ostracism,  he  was  condemned  to  be  banished  for  ten  years. 

Aristides,  finding  that  the  excited  multitude  could  not  be  ap¬ 
peased,  and  noticing,  as  he  yielded  to  their  violence,  a  person  writ 
ing  that  he  ought  to  be  banished,  is  said  to  have  asked  him :  “  Why 
he  did  so,  or  what  Aristides  had  done  that  he  should  be  thought 
deserving  of  such  a  punishment.”  The  person  writing  replied 
that  “  he  did  not  know  Aristides,  but  that  he  was  not  pleased  that 
he  had  labored  to  be  called  Just  beyond  other  men.” 


328 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


He  did  not  suffer  the  full  sentence  of  ten  years  appointed  by 
law;  for  when  Xerxes  made  a  descent  upon  Greece,  he  was  re¬ 
called  unto  his  country  by  a  decree  of  the  people,  about  six  years 
after  he  had  been  exiled.  He  was  present,  however,  in  the  sea  fight 
at  Salamis,  which  was  fought  before  he  was  allowed  to  return.  He 
was  also  commander  of  the  Athenians  at  Plataea,  in  the  battle  in 
which  Mardonius  was  routed,  and  the  army  of  the  barbarians  was 
cut  off.  Nor  is  there  any  other  celebrated  act  of  his  in  military 
affairs  recorded  besides  the  account  of  this  command. 

But  of  his  justice,  equity  and  self-control,  there  are  many  in¬ 
stances.  Above  all,  it  was  through  his  integrity,  when  he  was  joined 
in  command  of  the  common  fleet  of  Greece  with  Pausa'nias,  under 
whose  leadership  Mardonius  had  been  put  to  flight,  that  the  supreme 
authority  at  sea  was  transferred  from  Ihe  Lacedaemonians  to  the 
Athenians;  for  before  that  time  the  Lacedaemonians  had  the  com¬ 
mand  both  by  sea  and  land.  But  at  this  period  it  happened  through 
the  indiscreet  conduct  of  Pausanias,  and  the  equity  of  Aristides, 
that  all  the  states  of  Greece  attached  themselves  as  allies  to  the 
Athenians,  and  chose  them  as  their  leaders  against  the  barbarians. 

In  order  that  they  might  repel  the  barbarians  more  easily,  if 
perchance  they  should  try  to  renew  the  war,  Aristides  was  chosen 
to  settle  what  sum  of  money  each  state  should  contribute  for  build¬ 
ing  fleets  and  equipping  troops.  By  his  appointment  400  talents 
were  deposited  annually  at  Delos,  which  they  fixed  upon  to  be  the 
common  treasury;  but  all  this  money  was  afterward  removed  to 
Athens. 

How  great  was  his  integrity,  there  is  no  more  certain  proof,  than 
that,  though  he  had  been  at  the  head  of  such  important  affairs,  he  died 
in  such  poverty  that  he  scarcely  left  money  to  defray  the  charges 
of  his  funeral.  Hence  it  was  that  his  daughters  were  brought  up 
at  the  expense  of  the  country,  and  were  married  with  dowers  given 
them  from  the  public  treasury. 

He  died  about  four  years  after  Themistocles  was  banished  from 
Athens. 

CiE'SAR. 

BORN  100  B.C. 

Caius  Julius  Caesar,  whose  history  is  the  history  of  Rome 
during  the  fifty-six  years  of  his  life,  need  here  be  con¬ 
sidered  but  in  his  literary  biography.  He  was  a  descend¬ 
ant  of  one  of  the  oldest  of  the  patrician  families  of  Rome, 


CAESAR. 


329 


and  early  developed  that  good  taste,  great  tact,  and  pleas¬ 
ing  manners,  which  aided  so  much  toward  his  popularity. 
He  became  a  soldier  in  his  nineteenth  year,  serving  in  the 
first  Mithridatic  war,  and  receiving  the  honor  of  a  civic 
crown  for  saving  the  life  of  a  citizen. 

His  first  literary  career  was  as  an  orator,  in  which  he 
achieved  a  distinction  second  only  to  that  of  Cicero.  After 
pleading  in  several  important  cases  in  the  Roman  courts 
he  repaired  to  Rhodes,  where  he  studied  oratory  under 
Apollonius  Molo,  a  distinguished  teacher.  After  his  re¬ 
turn  to  Rome  he  again  pleaded  in  a  number  of  important 
cases,  being  always  unsuccessful,  which  may  have  been  from 
his  usually  pleading  on  the  weak  side,  as  he  was  looked 
upon  as  a  most  accomplished  orator. 

His  next  literary  labor  was  a  work  descriptive  of  his 
investigations  into  the  history  and  nature  of  the  Roman 
belief  in  augury.  This  Lihri  Anspiciorum  was  succeeded 
by  a  treatise  on  astronomy,  entitled  De  Astris,  and  a  poem 
resembling;  the  Phenomena  of  Aratus.  These  works  are 
interesting,  but  valueless  as  scientific  productions. 

Shortly  after  this  he  was  appointed  to  his  military 
province,  and  began  that  career  of  victory  and  conquest 
which  has  made  him  so  famous  in  the  annals  of  history. 
But  the  continual  labors  to  which  he  was  now  devoted  did 
not  cause  him  to  cease  his  literary  pursuits,  his  leisure 
moments  being  given  to  the  writing  of  his  celebrated 
Memoirs ,  or  Commentaries  of  the  Gallic  and  Civil  Wars. 

Indeed  his  active  and  comprehensive  mind  failed  to 
find  sufficient  employment  in  his  incessant  military  and 
political  duties,  but  was  constantly  devising  new  literary 
schemes,  among  which  was  the  design  of  reducing  the  dis- 
connected  mass  of  Roman  laws  to  a  regular  code.  His 
treatise  on  this  subject  has  perished.  He  also  contemplated 
a  complete  survey  and  map  of  the  Roman  empire;  and 
among  his  most  valuable  aids  to  literature  he  established 


330 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


a  public  library,  the  first  which  Rome  possessed.  Besides 
these  labors  he  wrote  a  number  of  minor  works,  of  which 
his  orations,  whose  titles  only  now  exist,  were  probably  the 
most  valuable. 

His  great  work,  and  the  one  on  which  his  literary  repu¬ 
tation  rests,  is  the  Commentaries.  Of  this  ten  books  were 
written  by  Caesar  himself,  seven  on  the  first  seven  years 
of  the  Gallic  war,  and  three  on  the  Civil  war.  The  eighth 
book,  De  Bello  Gal-lico ,  and  three  supplementary  books  of  the 
work  De  Bello  Civili ,  were  written  by  a  literary  friend  to 
whom  Caesar  had  probably  intrusted  the  completion  of  his 
labor. 

These  Commentaries  are  exactly  what  they  profess  to  be, 
materials  for  history,  sketches  taken  on  the  spot,  jotted 
down  while  the  incidents  were  yet  green  in  the  memory 
of  the  man  who  best  understood  them.  They  are  marked 
by  the  most  graphic  power,  and  in  their  deep  insight 
into  human  nature,  and  their  delineation  of  the  charac¬ 
ter  of  the  Gallic  race,  are  unsurpassed.  With  this  there 
is  the  elegance  and  polish  of  style  flowing  from  the  refined 
taste  and  rhetorical  skill  of  their  author,  and  the  pure, 
classic  Latin  of  the  Ausmstan  asm. 

o  O 

His  calmness  and  equability  of  character  are  reflected 
in  his  work,  which  has  none  of  the  sudden  rise  and  fall 
of  an  ardent  temperament,  but  sustains  one  uniform  height, 
a  feature  which  detracts  from  its  interest  with  some  readers. 
Its  lack  of  contrast,  of  light  and  shade,  seems  to  them  a 
lack  of  life  and  energy.  The  simple  beauty  of  his  lan¬ 
guage  is,  as  Cicero  says,  statuesque  rather  than  picturesque. 
It  was  this  calm,  marble-like  severity,  and  absence  of  pas¬ 
sion,  which  probably  caused  the  failure  of  his  efforts  in 
oratory,  to  which  energy  and  ardor  are  so  essential. 

He  has  been  charged  also  with  credulity,  in  accepting 
too  readily  accounts  given  him  concerning  races  with  whom 
he  came  into  warlike  contact.  He,  however,  used  the  best 


(LESAR 


331 


sources  of  information  at  his  command,  and  has  been  proven 
in  most  instances  to  be  correct. 

A  partial  fault  of  the  Commentaries  is  the  egotism  of 
the  writer.  Not  that  he  praises  himself  directly;  he  is 
too  shrewd  to  do  that;  nor  does  he  detract  from  the  merit 
of  those  who  served  under  him,  or  recount  his  own  suc¬ 
cesses  with  pretension.  Yet,  withal,  he  has  managed  to 
make  himself  the  hero  of  his  own  tale,  veiling  his  selfish 
and  ambitious  motives,  and  making  Caesar  right,  whoever 
may  be  wrong,  with  all  the  skill  of  a  Napoleon.  His 
memoirs  are  in  no  sense  confessions.  He  records  no  weak¬ 
nesses  or  defects  in  himself,  and  displays  by  his  very  reserve 
his  desire  to  place  his  character  in  the  most  favorable  light. 

His  work  has  been  sometimes  compared  with  that  of 
Xenophon,  the  Anabasis.  But,  except  that  both  are  sim¬ 
ple  and  unaffected,  there  is  no  parallel.  The  severe,  un¬ 
ornamented  style  of  the  stern  Roman  is  totally  unlike  the 
flowing  sweetness  of  the  Attic  historian. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  PHARSALIA. 

Til  ere  was  as  much  space  left  between  the  two  lines  as  sufficed 
for  the  onset  of  the  hostile  armies;  but  Pompey  had  ordered  his 
soldiers  to  await  Caesar’s  attack,  and  not  to  advance  from  tlieir 
positions,  or  suffer  tlieir  line  to  be  put  into  disorder.  And  he  is 
said  to  have  done  this  by  advice  of  Cains  Triarius,  that  the  impetu¬ 
osity  of  the  charge  of  Caesar’s  soldiers  might  be  checked  and  their 
line  broken,  and  that  Pompey’s  troops,  remaining  in  their  ranks, 
might  attack  them  when  in  disorder;  and  he  thought  that  the  jave¬ 
lins  would  fall  with  less  force  if  the  soldiers  were  kept  on  their 
ground  than  if  they  met  them  in  full  course;  at  the  same  time  he 
trusted  that  Caesar’s  soldiers,  after  running  over  double  the  usual 
ground,  would  become  weary  and  exhausted  by  the  fatigue. 

But  to  me  Pompey  seems  to  have  acted  without  sufficient  rea¬ 
son;  for  there  is  a  certain  impetuosity  of  spirit,  and  an  alacrity 
implanted  by  nature  in  the  hearts  of  all  men,  which  is  inflamed  by 
a  desire  to  meet  the  foe.  This  a  general  should  endeavor  not  to  re¬ 
press,  but  to  increase;  nor  was  it  a  vain  institution  of  our  ancestors 


332 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


that  the  trumpets  should  sound  on  all  sides,  and  a  general  shout  be 
raised;  by  which  they  imagined  that  the  enemy  were  struck  with 
terror,  and  their  own  army  inspired  with  courage. 

But  our  men,  when  the  signal  was  given,  rushed  forward  with 
their  javelins  ready  to  be  launched;  but  perceiving  that  Pompey’s 
men  did  not  run  to  meet  the  charge,  having  acquired  experience  by 
custom,  and  being  practiced  in  former  battles,  they  of  their  own 
accord  repressed  their  speed,  and  halted  almost  midway,  that  they 
might  not  come  up  with  the  enemy  when  their  strength  was  ex¬ 
hausted;  and  after  a  short  respite  they  again  renewed  their  course 
and  threw  their  javelins,  and  instantly  drew  their  swords,  as  Caesar 
had  ordered  them. 

Nor  did  Pompey’s  men  fail  in  this  crisis,  for  they  received  our 
javelins,  stood  our  charge,  and  maintained  their  ranks;  and  having 
launched  their  javelins,  had  recourse  to  their  swords.  At  the  same 
time  Pompey’s  horse,  according  to  their  orders,  rushed  out  at  once 
from  his  left  wing,  and  his  whole  host  of  archers  poured  after  them. 
Our  cavalry  did  not  withstand  their  charge,  but  gave  ground  a 
little,  upon  which  Pompey’s  troops  pressed  them  more  vigorously, 
and  began  to  tile  otf  in  troops  and  flank  our  army. 

When  Caesar  perceived  this  he  gave  the  signal  to  his  fourth  line, 
which  he  had  formed  of  the  six  cohorts.  They  instantly  rushed 
forward,  and  charged  Pompey’s  horse  with  such  fury  that  not  a 
man  of  them  stood;  but  all  wheeling  about,  not  only  quitted  their 
posts,  but  galloped  forward  to  seek  refuge  in  the  highest  moun¬ 
tains.  By  their  retreat  the  archers  and  slingers,  being  left  destitute 
and  defenseless,  were  all  cut  to  pieces.  The  cohorts,  pursuing  their 
success,  wheeled  about  upon  Pompey’s  left  wing,  while  his  infantry 
still  continued  to  make  battle,  and  taking  them  in  the  rear  at  tlie 
same  time  Caesar  ordered  the  third  line  to  advance,  which  till  then 
had  not  been  engaged,  but  had  kept  their  post.  These  new  and 
fresh  troops  having  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  fatigued,  and 
others  having  made  an  attack  upon  their  rear,  Pompey’s  men  were 
not  able  to  maintain  their  ground,  but  all  fled;  nor  was  Caesar  de¬ 
ceived  in  his  opinion,  that  the  victory,  as  he  had  declared  in  his 
speech  to  the  soldiers,  must  have  its  beginning  from  these  six  co¬ 
horts,  which  he  had  placed  as  the  fourth  line  to  oppose  the  horse. 
For  by  them  the  cavalry  were  routed,  by  them  the  archers  and 
slingers  were  cut  to  pieces,  by  them  the  left  wing  of  Pompey’s  army 
was  surrounded  and  obliged  to  be  the  first  to  fly.  .  .  , 

In  Pompey’s  camp  you  might  see  arbors,  in  which  tables  were 


CbESAR. 


333 


laid;  a  large  quantity  of  plate  set  out;  the  floors  of  the  tents  cov¬ 
ered  with  fresh  sods;  the  tents  of  Lucius  Lcn'tulus  and  others 
shaded  with  ivy;  and  many  other  things  which  were  proofs  of  ex¬ 
cessive  luxury,  and  a  confidence  of  victory;  so  that  it  might  readily 
be  inferred  that  they  had  no  premonitions  of  the  issue  of  the  day, 
as  they  indulged  themselves  in  unnecessary  pleasures,  and  yet  up¬ 
braided  with  luxury  Caesar’s  army,  distressed  and  suffering  troops, 
who  had  always  been  in  want  of  common  necessaries. 

Pompey,  as  soon  as  our  men  had  forced  the  trenches,  mounting 
his  horse,  and  stripping  olf  his  general’s  habit,  went  hastily  out  of 
the  back  gate  of  the  camp,  and  galloped  with  all  speed  to  Laris'sa; 
nor  did  he  stop  there,  but  with  the  same  dispatch,  collecting  a  few 
of  his  flying  troops,  and  halting  neither  day  nor  night,  he  arrived 
at  the  sea-shore  attended  by  only  thirty  horse,  and  went  on  board  a 
victualling  barque,  often  complaining,  as  we  have  been  told,  that 
he  had  been  so  deceived  in  his  expectation,  that  he  was  almost 
persuaded  that  he  had  been  betrayed  by  those  from  whom  he  had 
expected  victory,  as  they  began  the  flight. 

THE  NATIVES  OF  BRITAIN. 

The  interior  portion  of  Britain  is  inhabited  by  those,  of  whom 
they  say  that  it  is  handed  down  by  tradition  that  they  were  born  in 
the  island  itself ;  the  maritime  portion  by  those  who  had  passed  over 
from  the  country  of  the  Belgfe  for  the  purpose  of  plunder  and  mak¬ 
ing  war,  almost  all  of  whom  are  called  by  the  name  of  those  states 
from  which,  being  sprung,  they  went  thither,  and  having  waged 
war,  continued  there,  and  began  to  cultivate  the  land. 

The  number  of  the  people  is  countless,  and  their  buildings  ex¬ 
ceedingly  numerous,  for  the  most  part  very  like  those  of  the  Gauls. 
The  number  of  cattle  is  great.  They  use  either  brass  or  iron  rings, 
determined  by  a  certain  weight,  as  their  money.  Tin  is  produced  in 
the  midland  region;  in  the  maritime,  iron;  but  the  quantity  of  it 
is  small ;  they  employ  brass,  which  is  imported. 

There,  as  in  Gaul,  is  timber  of  every  description,  except  beech 
and  fir.  They  do  not  regard  it  lawful  to  eat  the  hare,  and  the  cock, 
and  the  goose  ;  they,  however,  breed  them  for  amusement  and  pleas¬ 
ure.  The  climate  is  more  temperate  than  in  Gaul,  the  cold  being 
less  severe. 

The  most  civilized  of  all  the  natives  are  those  who  inhabit 
Kent,  which  is  entirely  a  maritime  district,  nor  do  their  customs 


334 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


differ  much  from  those  of  the  Gauls.  Most  of  the  inland  inhabit¬ 
ants  do  not  use  corn,  but  live  on  milk  and  flesh,  and  are  clad  with 
skins. 

All  the  British,  indeed,  dye  themselves  with  woad,  which  occa¬ 
sions  a  bluish  color,  and  thereby  they  have  a  more  terrible  appear¬ 
ance  in  tight.  They  wear  their  hair  long,  and  have  every  part  of 
their  body  shaved,  except  their  head  and  upper  lip. 

SAL' LUST. 

BORN  86  B.C. 

■  ■  .  h*  -{ 

Ca'ius  Sallus'tius  Cris'pus,  the  first  of  Roman  historians, 
in  the  modern  sense,  was  a  native  of  Amiter'num,  in  the 
Sabine  territory.  He  was  of  plebeian  rank,  but  attained 
official  distinction,  and  held  public  positions,  which  raised 
him  to  the  senatorial  dignity.  He  was  expelled  from  the 
Senate,  however,  in  the  year  50  b.c.,  on  the  charge  of  im¬ 
morality,  though  his  attachment  to  Caesar’s  party  was  the 
probable  secret  reason  of  his  expulsion. 

In  the  civil  war  that  ensued  he  joined  the  army  of 
Caesar,  through  whom  he  was  restored  to  his  rank.  In  46 
b.c.,  he  took  part  in  Caesar’s  African  war,  being  left  gov¬ 
ernor  of  Numidia  at  its  close.  Here,  by  extortion,  he  ac¬ 
cumulated  great  wealth,  and,  though  accused  before  Caesar 
of  rapacity  and  oppression,  escaped  a  trial. 

The  enormous  fortune  which  Sallust  had  thus  obtained 
he  lavished  on  expensive  but  tasteful  luxury,  laying  out 
magnificent  grounds,  on  the  Quirinal,  which  were  celebrated 
for  their  beauty.  In  this  charming  retreat,  surrounded 
by  the  choicest  works  of  art,  and  avoiding  the  wars  which 
yet  raged,  he  passed  the  remainder  of  his  life,  devoting 
himself  to  historical  composition.  His  death  took  place 
in  the  year  34  b.c. 

The  charges  against  Sallust  of  immoralitv  have  been 
denied,  but  the  internal  evidence  of  his  works  tends  to  sup¬ 
port  them,^as  their  assumed  tone  of  morality  seems  far 


SALLUST. 


335 


more  affectation  and  pretense  than  reality,  and  certainly 
lacks  the  ardor  of  sincerity.  He  did  not  attempt  a  con¬ 
nected  history  of  Rome,  but  only  detached  portions  of  his¬ 
tory,  avoiding  those  periods,  as  he  himself  explains,  of  which 
already  satisfactory  accounts  existed. 

His  first  work,  in  order  of  time,  is  the  Jugurthine  war, 
which  raged  from  111  to  106  b.c.  The  next  period,  ex¬ 
tending  to  78  b.c.,  had  been  treated  by  Sisenna,  a  friend 
of  Cicero.  Beginning  where  Sisenna  had  ended,  he  wrote  a 
work,  now  unfortunately  lost,  bringing  down  his  history 
to  66  b.c.  His  next  work  begins  two  years  afterward,  and 
is  devoted  to  the  conspiracy  of  Catiline,  during  the  consul¬ 
ship  of  Cicero.  Other  extant  works  are  ascribed  to  him, 
but  the  Jugurtha  and  the  Bellum  Catilinarimn  are  the 
only  ones  clearly  authentic. 

Sallust  never  wrote  without  an  object.  He  is  no  mere 
chronicler  of  events,  but  uses  all  his  facts  to  enforce  some 
important  political  principle.  It*  is  this  that  gives  him  the 
merit  of  being  the  first  Roman  who  wrote  history  in  the 
true  sense  of  the  term.  In  the  Jugurtha  he  points  out  the 
unworthiness  of  the  foreign  policy  of  Rome  as  then  ad¬ 
ministered.  In  the  Bellum  Catilinarinm  he  vividly  paints 
the  depravity  of  the  new  nobility,  who,  bankrupt  in  fortune 
and  dead  to  honor,  still  took  pride  in  their  rank  and  ex¬ 
clusiveness.  His  hatred  toward  this  vicious,  ruined  and 
reckless  aristocratic  party  was  sincere,  and  he  draws  them 
in  an  animated  and  most  unflattering  picture. 

As  a  writer  Sallust,  though  frequently  inexact,  especially 
in  the  Jugurtha ,  is  vigorous,  lively,  and  excellent  in  a 
literary  point  of  view.  The  speeches,  of  his  own  composi¬ 
tion,  which  he  puts  into  the  mouths  of  his  characters,  are 
very  effective,  and  show  him  a  complete  master  of  rhet¬ 
oric.  His  personages  are  drawn  with  great  naturalness, 
as  though  he  not  only  knew  them,  but  accurately  under¬ 
stood  them.  His  works,  in  short,  have  at  once  the  charm 


336 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


of  the  historical  romance,  and  the  value  of  the  political 
treatise,  being  far  in  advance  of  the  dry  chronicles  of 
earlier  writers. 

His  style,  though  elaborate  and  artificial,  is  pleasing, 
and  usually  transparently  clear.  It  imitates  the  brevity 
of  Thucydides,  and  with  considerable  skill,  though  he  lacks 
the  wonderful  power  of  condensation  of  the  great  Athenian. 
The  brevity  of  the  one  is  natural;  that  of  the  other,  artifi¬ 
cial.  Thucydides  expresses  himself  in  condensed  thoughts, 
which  may  be  unfolded  and  expanded.  Sallust  uses  ellip¬ 
tical  expressions,  to  which  the  reader  must  supply  what  is 
wanting.  Neither  is  his  method  the  business-like  brevity 
of  Caesar,  whose  straightforward  statements  convey  in 
themselves  all  that  is  requisite  to  be  understood. 

The  great  merit  of  Sallust  lies  in  his  philosophical 
method,  in  which  he  analyzes  the  motives  of  parties,  and 
lays  bare  the  hidden  springs  which  move  the  great  actors 
on  the  public  stage,  revealing  the  secret  soul  by  which 
national  movements  are  animated.  It  is  this  which  gives 
him  the  credit  of  being  the  first  true  Roman  historian,  and 
makes  him  so  valuable  as  a  guide  to  succeeding  writers. 

THE  COMPANIONS  OF  CATILINE. 

When  riches  began  to  be  held  in  high  esteem,  and  attended  with 
glory,  honor  and  power,  virtue  languished;  poverty  was  deemed  a 
reproach,  and  innocence  passed  for  ill-nature.  And  thus  luxury, 
avarice  and  pride,  all  springing  from  riches,  enslaved  the  Roman 
youth;  they  wantoned  in  rapine  and  prodigality;  undervalued 
their  own,  and  coveted  what  belonged  to  others;  trampled  on 
modesty,  friendship  and  continence;  confounded  things  human  and 
divine,  and  threw  oil  all  manner  of  consideration  and  restraint. 

To  see  the  difference  between  modern  and  ancient  manners,  one 
needs  but  take  a  view  of  the  houses  of  particular  citizens,  both  in 
town  and  country,  all  resembling  in  magnificence  so  many  cities; 
and  then  behold  the  temples  of  the  Gods  built  by  our  ancestors,  the 
most  religious  of  all  men.  But  they  thought  of  no  other  ornament 
for  their  temples  than  devotion;  nor  for  their  houses,  but  glory; 


SALLUST. 


337 


neither  did  they  take  anything  from  the  conquered  but  the  power 
of  doing  hurt.  Whereas  their  descendants, —  the  most  effeminate  of 
all  men, —  have  plundered  from  their  allies  whatever  their  brave 
ancestors  left  to  their  conquered  enemies;  as  if  the  only  use  of 
power  was  to  do  wrong. 

It  is  needless  to  recount  other  things,  which  none  but  those  who 
saw  them  will  believe;  as  the  leveling  of  mountains  by  private  citi¬ 
zens,  and  even  covering  the  sea  itself  with  fine  edifices.  These  men 
appear  to  me  to  have  sported  with  their  riches,  since  they  lavished 
them  in  the  most  shameful  manner,  instead  of  enjoying  them  with 
honor.  Nor  were  they  less  tempted  to  all  manner  of  extravagant 
gratifications.  Procuring  dainties  for  their  tables  sea  and  land  were 
ransacked.  They  indulged  in  sleep  before  nature  craved  it;  the 
returns  of  hunger  and  thirst  were  anticipated  with  luxury;  and  cold 
and  fatigue  were  never  so  much  as  felt. 

The  Roman  youth,  after  they  had  spent  their  fortunes,  were 
tempted  by  such  deprivations  to  commit  all  manner  of  enormities; 
for  their  minds,  impregnated  with  evil  hopes,  and  unable  to  resist 
their  craving  appetites,  were  violently  bent  on  all  manner  of  extrav¬ 
agances,  and  all  the  means  of  supplying  them.  .  .  . 

In  so  great  and  corrupted  a  city  Catiline  had  always  about  him, 
what  was  no  difficult  matter  to  find  in  Rome,  bands  of  profligate 
and  flagitious  wretches,  like  guards  to  his  person.  For  all  those 
who  were  abandoned  to  gluttony  and  voluptuousness,  and  had  ex¬ 
hausted  their  fortunes  by  gaming,  feasting  and  licentiousness;  all 
who  were  overwhelmed  with  debts,  contracted  to  purchase  pardon 
for  their  crimes;  add  to  these  parricides  and  sacrilegious  persons 
from  all  quarters,  such  as  were  convicted  of  crimes  or  feared  con¬ 
viction;  nay,  further,  all  who  lived  by  perjury  and  shedding  the 
blood  of  citizens;  lastly,  all  whom  wickedness,  indigence  or  a  guilty 
conscience  disquieted;  were  united  to  Catiline  in  the  firmest  bonds 
of  friendship  and  intimacy. — Rose. 

A  SUCCESSFUL  STRATAGEM. 

Not  far  from  the  river  of  Muluclia,  which  separated  the  king¬ 
doms  of  Jugur'tlia  and  Boc'chus,  there  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  plain 
a  small  fort,  on  a  rock  of  considerable  breadth,  and  of  prodigious 
height,  naturally  as  steep  on  every  side  as  art  could  render  it;  but  it 
had  no  access  except  at  one  place,  and  that  was  by  means  of  a  nar¬ 
row  path. 

As  the  king’s  treasure  was  deposited  in  this  place,  Ma'rius  ex- 

15 


338 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


erted  his  utmost  force  to  reduce  it,  and  succeeded  more  by  accident 
than  by  prudent  management.  The  castle  was  abundantly  provided 
with  men,  arms,  provisions,  and  a  spring  of  water.  The  path  to  it 
was  very  narrow,  with  a  precipice  on  either  side;  the  soldiers  could 
neither  maintain  their  footing,  nor  make  use  of  their  batteries;  the 
most  adventurous  were  either  slain  or  wounded,  and  the  rest  were 
greatly  discouraged.  Marius,  having  thus  spent  many  toilsome 
days,  now  hesitated  whether  he  should  abandon  his  enterprise, 
which  had  proved  unsuccessful,  or  await  the  interposition  of  for¬ 
tune,  which  had  so  frequently  befriended  him. 

While  these  reflections,  day  and  night,  occupied  his  mind,  a 
Ligurian,  who  had  gone  out  of  the  camp  in  search  of  water,  hap¬ 
pened  to  perceive,  not  far  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  castle,  some 
periwinkles  creeping  among  the  rocks.  Gathering  one,  then  another, 
and  still  climbing  to  procure  more,  he  was  led  insensibly  almost  to 
the  top  of  the  mountain,  where,  perceiving  that  all  was  quiet  in 
that  quarter,  the  natural  desire  of  viewing  unknown  objects  prompted 
him  to  proceed. 

It  chanced  that  an  oak  tree  of  considerable  magnitude  here  grew 
out  of  the  side  of  the  rock,  and  bending  its  trunk  downward  near 
the  roots,  then,  taking  a  turn,  mounted  upward,  as  is  natural  to 
trees  in  such  situations.  By  the  help  of  this  the  Ligurian,  by  laying 
hold  of  the  branches  of  the  tree,  or  of  the  prominences  of  the  rock, 
was  at  length  enabled  to  survey  the  whole  plan  of  the  castle,  without 
being  discovered  by  the  Numidians,  who  were  all  engaged  on  that 
side  on  which  the  attack  had  been  made. 

On  his  return  to  the  camp  he  hastened  to  Marius,  informed  him  of 
what  he  had  done,  advised  him  to  make  an  attempt  on  the  castle  on 
that  side  where  he  himself  had  mounted,  and  promised  that  he 
would  lead  the  way,  and  be  the  first  to  face  the  danger.  ...  At 
the  time  appointed  the  party  left  the  camp,  having  previously  taken 
such  measures  as  were  necessary.  .  .  . 

The  Ligurian,  leading  the  way,  fixed  cords  about  the  stones  and 
such  roots  of  trees  as  appeared  proper  for  the  purpose,  to  assist  the 
soldiers  in  climbing,  stretching  his  hand  from  time  to  time  to  such 
as  were  discouraged  at  so  rugged  a  march.  When  the  ascent  was 
more  steep  than  ordinary  he  would  send  them  up  before  him  un¬ 
armed,  and  then  follow  himself  with  their  arms.  Wherever  it 
appeared  more  dangerous  to  climb  he  went  foremost,  and,  by  as¬ 
cending  and  descending  several  times,  encouraged  the  rest  to  follow. 
At  length,  after  much  tedious  labor,  they  gained  the  castle,  which 


LIVY. 


339 


was  quite  naked  on  that  side,  the  Numidians  being  all  employed  in 
the  opposite  quarter. 

As  a  result  the  castle  was  taken,  this  small  party  frightening  the 
defenders  by  a  sudden  blare  of  trumpets,  while  Marius  made  a  vio¬ 
lent  assault  from  the  front. 

LIV'Y. 

BORN  59  B.C. 

Ti'tus  Liv'ius  Patavi'nus,  the  most  popular  of  Roman 
historians,  and  the  only  one  of  note  who  flourished  during 
the  reign  of  Augustus,  was  probably  a  native  of  Pata'vium 
(Padua).  Little  is  known  concerning  his  life.  He  came  to 
Rome  in  the  Augustan  period,  where  he  enjoyed  the  favor 
of  the  emperor,  though  he  was  an  outspoken  admirer  of  the 
ancient  institutions  of  the  country. 

His  great  work  was  probably  not  commenced  until  he 
had  approached  middle  age,  but,  as  he  lived  till  his  seventy- 
seventh  year,  he  had  ample  time  to  finish  it.  His  fame 
spread  so  rapidly,  even  during  his  life,  that  an  inhabitant 
of  Cadiz  came  to  Rome  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  see 
him. 

His*  celebrated  production  is  a  history  of  Rome,  which 
he  modestly  entitles  Annals ,  extending  from  the  very  earliest 
period  to  the  death  of  Drusus,  in  the  year  9  b.c.  This  work 
originally  comprised  one  hundred  and  forty-two  books,  but 
of  these  only  thirty  now  exist  complete,  with  the  greater 
part  of  five  more.  Of  the  remainder  we  have  only  meager 
epitomes  of  their  contents,  drawn  up  by  some  unknown 
author.  The  most  valuable  of  these  extant  portions  are 
the  first  decade,  containing  the  early  history;  and  the  third, 
containing  the  wars  of  Hannibal. 

Livy  cannot  be  praised  for  the  critical  correctness  of  his 
work.  Though  abundant  original  documents  were  ready 
to  his  hand  he  never  seems  to  have  taken  the  trouble  to 
consult  them,  contenting  himself  with  following  the  works 
of  previous  historians,  and  taking  many  dubious  statements 


340 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


on  trust  which  he  could  easily  have  verified.  These  defects 
injure  the  value  of  his  work  as  a  history,  hut  as  a  narrator, 
a  historical  story-teller,  he  is  unrivaled,  either  in  ancient 
or  modern  times.  In  this  respect  he  was  a  man  of  pre¬ 
eminent  genius,  and  possessed  of  a  fresh,  lively  and  fasci¬ 
nating  style,  whose  charm  no  reader  can  escape. 

He  had  one  object  in  view  in  writing  his  history,  namely, 
to  celebrate  the  glories  of  his  beloved  country;  and  he 
writes  in  a  vein  of  panegyric  which  makes  his  work  like  the 
joyous  lay  of  a  bard  at  a  festive  meeting,  singing,  indeed, 
of  days  bright  and  dark,  but  bringing  all  things  to  a  happy 
ending.  Where  there  are  two  stories  of  an  event  he  always 
chooses  the  one  most  favorable  to  Rome,  with  little  regard 
to  its  probability;  and  in  treating  of  ancient  times  his  aris¬ 
tocratic  tendencies  prevent  him  from  doing  justice  to  the 
old  tribunes,  of  whom  he  speaks  as  if  they  were  on  a  level 
with  the  demagogues  of  the  worst  period.  Indeed,  his 
work  is  invaluable  as  a  picture  of  the  view  which  the 
Romans  of  the  cultivated  age  took  of  their  old  traditions. 

Whatever  his  demerits  as  a  historian,  he  has  never  been 
surpassed  in  the  art  of  telling  a  story,  and  the  speeches 
which  he  ascribes  to  his  characters  are  faultless  as  works 
of  art,  though  they  are  too  much  in  one  tone  to  properly 
represent  the  various  persons  speaking.  There  is  also 
something  in  a  high  degree  winning  and  engaging  about 
what  may  be  called  the  moral  atmosphere  of  Livy’s  history, 
which  no  one  can  read  without  feeling  that  the  historian 
had  a  kindly  disposition  —  a  large,  candid  and  generous 
soul.  A  lost  battle  is  misery  to  him.  He  trembles  at  the 
task  of  relating  it.  Indeed,  he  everywhere  shows  the  truth 
of  Quintilian’s  well  known  criticism,  “  that  he  is  especially 
the  historian  of  the  affections,  particularly  of  the  softer 
sensibilities.” 


LIVY. 


341 


A  CAUSELESS  PANIC. 

When  the  Roman  army  first  reached  the  Lake  Timavus,  the 
Istrians  took  post  behind  a  hill  where  they  could  not  be  seen,  and 
in  its  march  thence  followed  it  through  by-ways,  watching  atten¬ 
tively  for  some  opportunity  that  might  give  them  an  advantage; 
nor  did  anything  that  was  done,  either  on  sea  or  land,  escape  their 
observation.  When  they  saw  that  the  advanced  guards  of  the  Ro¬ 
mans  were  weak,  and  that  they  had  not  fortified  themselves,  either 
by  wTorks  on  land,  or  by  the  help  of  ships,  they  made  an  attack  on 
two  of  their  posts  at  once.  A  morning  fog  concealed  their  design, 
and  when  this  began  to  disperse,  as  the  sun  grew  warm,  the  light 
piercing  through  it  in  some  degree,  yet  still  being  far  from  clear, 
and,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  magnifying  the  appearance  of  every¬ 
thing,  deceived  the  Romans,  and  made  the  army  of  the  enemy 
appear  much  greater  to  them  than  it  really  was. 

And  when  the  troops  in  both  the  posts,  terrified,  had  fled  in  the 
utmost  confusion  to  the  camp,  there  they  caused  much  greater 
alarm  than  that  they  were  under  themselves,  for  they  could  neither 
tell  what  made  them  fly  nor  answer  any  question  that  was  asked. 
Then  a  shouting  was  heard  at  all  the  gates,  since  there  were  no 
guards  to  them  which  could  withstand  an  attack,  and  the  crowding 
together  of  the  soldiers,  who  fell  one  against  the  other  in  the  dark, 
raised  a  doubt  as  to  whether  the  enemy  was  within  the  rampart. 
Only  one  cry  wras  heard  —  that  of  those  urging  to  the  sea. 

This  cry,  uttered  by  one,  and  without  an  object,  and  by  chance, 
resounded  everywhere  throughout  the  entire  camp.  At  first,  there¬ 
fore,  a  few  with  their  arms,  and  the  greater  part  w  ithout  them,  as  if 
they  had  received  orders  so  to  do,  ran  off  to  the  sea-shore ;  then  fol¬ 
lowed  more,  and  at  length  almost  the  whole  of  the  army,  and  the 
consul  himself,  wdien  he  had  in  vain  attempted  to  call  back  the 
fugitives.  The  military  tribune  of  the  third  legion,  with  three  com¬ 
panies,  alone  remained,  being  left  behind  by  the  legion.  The  Istri¬ 
ans,  having  made  an  attack  upon  the  empty  camp,  after  that  no 
other  had  met  them  in  arms,  came  upon  him  where  he  was  drawing 
up  and  encouraging  his  men,  at  the  general’s  quarters.  The  fight 
was  maintained  with  more  resolution  than  might  have  been  expect¬ 
ed  from  the  small  number  of  the  defenders;  nor  did  it  cease  until 
the  tribune  and  those  who  stood  by  him  were  all  slain. 

The  enemy  then,  tearing  down  the  general’s  tent,  and  seizing  on 
all  they  could  find,  went  to  the  quaestor’s  quarters,  and  the  adjoin- 


342 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


ing  forum  called  Quintana.  Thereupon,  when  they  found  all  kind 
of  food  dressed  and  laid  out  in  the  quaestor’s  tent,  and  the  couches 
placed  in  order,  their  chieftain  lay  down  and  began  to  feast.  Pres¬ 
ently  all  the  rest,  thinking  no  more  of  lighting  or  of  the  enemy,  did 
the  same,  and  being  unaccustomed  to  any  sort  of  rich  food,  they 
greedily  gorged  themselves  with  meat  and  wTine.  .  .  . 

The  appearance  of  affairs  among  the  Romans  wTas  by  no  means 
the  same.  There  was  confusion  both  on  land  and  sea;  the  mariners 
struck  their  tents  and  hastily  conveyed  on  board  the  provisions 
which  had  been  sent  on  shore;  the  soldiers  on  the  bank  rushed  into 
the  boats,  and  even  into  the  water.  Some  of  the  seamen,  in  fear 
lest  their  vessels  should  be  overcrowded,  opposed  the  entrance  of 
the  multitude,  while  others  pushed  off  from  the  shore  into  the  deep. 
Hence  arose  a  dispute,  and  in  a  short  time  a  fight,  accompanied  by 
wounds  and  loss  of  life  both  of  soldiers  and  seamen,  until,  by  order 
of  the  consul,  the  fleet  was  removed  to  a  distance  from  the  shore. 

He  next  set  about  separating  the  armed  from  the  unarmed.  Out 
of  so  large  a  number  there  wrere  scarcely  twelve  hundred  who  had 
preserved  their  arms,  and  very  few  horsemen  who  had  brought  their 
horses  with  them.  At  length  an  express  was  sent  to  call  in  the 
third  legion ;  and  at  the  same  time  the  troops  began  to  march  back 
from  all  parts  in  order  to  retake  the  camp,  and  wipe  out  their  dis¬ 
grace.  The  military  tribunes  of  the  third  legion  ordered  their  men 
to  throw  away  the  forage  and  wood,  and  commanded  the  centurions 
to  mount  two  elderly  soldiers  on  horses  from  which  the  loads  were 
thrown  down,  and  each  of  the  cavalry  to  take  a  young  loot  soldier 
with  him  on  his  horse;  telling  them  that  “it  would  be  great  honor 
if  they  should  recover  by  bravery  the  camp  which  had  been  lost  by 
the  cowardice  of  the  second.” 

This  exhortation  was  received  by  the  army  with  the  utmost  alac¬ 
rity;  they  eagerly  bore  on  the  standards,  nor  did  the  soldiers  delay 
the"  standard  bearers.  However,  the  consul,  and  the  troops  which 
were  led  back  from  the  shore,  reached  the  rampart  first. 

Immediately  after  this  he  ordered  his  own  standard  bearer,  a 
man  of  known  bravery,  to  bear  in  the  standard,  who  replied  that  if 
the  men  were  willing  to  follow  him  he  would  cause  it  to  be  done 
more  quickly.  Then,  exerting  all  his  strength,  after  throwing  the 
standard  across  the  entrenchment,  he  was  the  first  that  entered  the 
gate.  On  the  other  side  the  military  tribunes  of  the  third  legion, 
with  the  cavalry,  arrived ;  and  quickly  after  them  the  soldiers  whom 


LIVY. 


343 


they  had  mounted  in  pairs  on  the  beasts  of  burden ;  also  the  consul, 
with  the  main  body. 

Only  a  few  of  the  Istrians,  who  had  drunk  in  moderation,  betook 
themselves  to  flight ;  death  succeeded  as  a  continuation  of  the  sleep 
of  the  others;  and  the  Romans  recovered  all  their  effects  unim¬ 
paired,  except  the  victuals  and  the  wine  which  they  had  consumed. 
About  eight  thousand  of  the  Istrians  were  killed,  but  not  one  pris¬ 
oner  taken,  for  rage  and  indignation  had  made  the  Romans  regard¬ 
less  of  booty.  The  king  of  the  Istrians,  though  drunk  after  his 
banquet,  was  hastily  mounted  on  a  horse  by  his  people  and  effected 
his  escape.  Of  the  conquerors  there  were  lost  two  hundred  and 
thirty-seven  men,  more  of  whom  fell  in  the  light  of  the  morning 
than  in  the  retaking  of  the  camp. — McDevitta. 


THE  SILVER  AGE  OF  ROMAN  LITERATURE. 


After  the  close  of  the  Augustan  age  a  long,  dark  period 
succeeded,  scarcely  illuminated  by  a  ray  of  genius.  The 
atmosphere  of  Rome  was  not  favorable  to  the  free  growth 
of  thought.  Morally  and  politically  the  souls  of  men  were 
under  a  cloud,  through  which  it  was  difficult  to  rise  to  the 
heights  on  which  genius  loves  to  dwell. 

During  the  reign  of  the  dark  Tiberius  and  his  weak  and 
wicked  successors  it  was  dangerous  to  speak;  it  was  almost 
dangerous  to  think.  The  few  historians  and  poets  who 
wrote  during  this  period  managed  by  flattery,  or  by  medi¬ 
ocrity,  to  keep  their  heads  on  their  shoulders;  though 
Cordus,  the  historian,  lost  his  life  through  letting  a  spice  of 
the  truth,  which  every  one  knew,  creep  into  his  pages. 

We  have  seen  how  poor  Ovid,  even  in  the  reign  of 
Augustus,  suffered,  apparently  for  knowing  too  much.  To 
say  too  much  was  a  still  deeper  crime.  Authors  needed  to 
weigh  their  words  with  great  care,  or  to  escape  danger  by 
unblushing  adulation  of  their  tyrants.  Phsedrus,  in  his 
mask  of  fable,  apparently  intended  to  cover  some  unpleasant 
truths;  which  he  failed,  however,  to  mask  deeply  enough  to 
escape  unpleasant  consequences,  as  he  himself  vaguely  gives 
us  to  believe.  No  writer  dared  more  than  dimly  hint  that 
he  had  suffered  for  his  boldness;  the  truth  in  this  particular, 
too,  needing  to  be  veiled.  Nero  affected  a  love  for  litera- 
ture,  but  he  was  hardly  the  sun  for  thought  to  sprout  freely 
under.  In  fact,  it  was  not  until  the  days  of  Trajan  that 
men’s  souls  became  in  any  sense  free,  or  that  the  embargo 

344 


THE  SILVER  AGE  OF  ROMAN  LITERATURE.  345 


was  raised  which  tyranny  had  laid  upon  the  free  speech  of 
mankind. 

During  this  dark  age  the  taste  for  literature  rapidly 
changed.  The  language  was  losing  its  classic  purity,  and  a 
rhetorical,  declamatory  style  of  writing  replaced  the  simple, 
pure  directness  of  the  Augustan  age.  Amplification  and 
ornament  took  the  place  of  vigor  and  earnestness,  and  men 
thought  far  less  of  what  they  said  than  of  how  they  said  it. 
Such  a  feeling  was  fatal  to  any  high  literary  merit,  and  we 
find,  in  fact,  but  a  few  names  that  retained  any  of  the  old 
classic  tone. 

After  Ovid,  nearly  half  a  century  passed  unmarked  by 
any  writers  of  distinguished  merit,  Then  the  darkness 
thinned  and  some  rays  of  talent  shone  through.  It  was 
not  the  clear  lustre  of  the  preceding  age,  however,  for  the 
taste  for  rhetoric  had  blinded  men  to  the  recognition  of  true 
literary  merit,  and  the  pure  soul  of  thought  was  replaced 
by  meretricious  ornament,  wordy  declamation  taking  the 
place  of  vivid  strength. 

Only  three  names  during  this  period  preserved  any  clear 
traces  of  the  old  classic  tone,  namely,  Phsedrus,  Lucan  and 
Persius.  At  a  later  date,  under  the  liberal  emperors,  Ju¬ 
venal  and  Tacitus  brought  back  vigor  of  thought  and  inde- 
pendence  of  spirit.  There  was  a  revival  of  taste,  but  it 
failed  to  reach  its  former  lofty  range.  In  even  the  best  of 
these  authors  evidence  of  the  vitiated  public  taste  is  to  be 
seen.  Seneca’s  tragedies  are  made  up  of  theatrical  decla¬ 
mation;  the  satires  of  Persius  are  philosophical  declama¬ 
tion,  and  Lucan’s  poems  contain  more  of  rhetoric  than  of 
poetry. 

Only  to  Juvenal  and  Tacitus  can  we  give  credit  for  a 
brevity,  clearness  and  directness  equaling  that  of  the  older 
writers,  and  to  Pliny  the  younger  for  an  epistolary  style 
modeled  after  that  of  Cicero,  and  but  little  inferior  to  that 
of  his  great  exemplar. 


346 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


PHiE'DRUS. 

FLOURISHED  ABOUT  30  A.D. 

This  writer,  who,  like  the  great  preceding  fabulist  iEsop, 
seems  to  have  been  born  in  slavery,  was  probably  brought 
from  Thrace  or  Macedonia  to  Rome  during  the  reign  of 
Augustus,  by  whom  he  was  emancipated.  His  principal 
period  of  authorship  was  during  the  reign  of  Tiberius,  in 
which  he  appears  to  have  gained  the  enmity  of  Seja'nus, 
by  covert  satires  on  that  base  favorite.  He  escaped  his 
wrath,  however,  and  probably  lived  till  an  advanced  age, 
dying  in  the  reign  of  Claudius. 

The  fable  was  known  to  the  Romans  long  before  his 
time,  being  copied  or*  imitated  from  the  Greek,  and  was  a 
popular  form#-  of  literature.  He,  however,  struck  into  a 
new  field,  changing  the  fable  from  its  former  office  as  a 
moral  instructor  into  that  of  a  political  satirist,  and  strik¬ 
ing  severe  though  well  masked  blows  at  the  corruption  and 
venality  of  his  times. 

He  is  the  only  extant  author  of  Roman  fable,  and  occu¬ 
pies  that  dark  age  after  the  Augustan  period  which  is  so 
barren  of  literature.  His  style  shows  the  transitional  spirit 
through  which  the  taste  of  the  Roman  people  was  passing, 
though  there  are  no  contemporary  authors  with  which  to 
compare  it,  the  poet,  the  historian  and  the  philosopher  being 
alike  silent. 

Plraedrus  is  his  own  biographer.  We  only  know  of  his 
life  that  he  wrote  during  the  reign  of  Tiberius,  with  an 
obscure  hint  that  he  suffered  from  persecution  under  this 
tyrant.  He  styles  himself  a  translator  of  iEsop,  but  in 
addition  to  his  translations  many  fables  original  with  him¬ 
self  appear  in  his  works.  In  these  he  fails  to  display  the 
native  genius  of  the  great  Greek  fabulist.  He  manifests 
good  observation  and  ingenuity  in  the  grouping  of  his  ani¬ 
mals,  whom  he  makes  to  speak  noble  and  wise  sentiments; 


PH^EDRUS. 


347 


but  he  never  becomes  lost  in  his  characters,  like  iEsop. 
Thev  look  and  act  like  animals,  but  talk  like  men.  He 
lacks,  indeed,  the  imaginative  power  of  iEsop,  who  makes 
his  brutes  talk  in  sentiments  natural  to  their  presumed 
characters,  while  Phsedrus  translates  human  sentiments 
into  the  brute  language. 

O  O 

His  style  has  much  merit,  combining  the  elegance  of  the 
Augustan  age  with  the  terseness  of  succeeding  writers.  He 
is  at  once  as  facile  as  Ovid  and  as  brief  as  Tacitus.  In  his 
extant  works  there  seem  to  have  been  many  alterations 
and  fables  of  much  later  composition  introduced,  which  has 
thrown  a  doubt  upon  the  authenticity  of  the  work,  and 
particularly  of  the  sixth  book,  recently  discovered.  There 
is  little  question,  however,  that  the  first  five  books  are 
mainly  his.  We  give  the  following  examples: 

THE  PERILS  OF  WEALTH. 

Two  mules,  laden  with  heavy  burdens,  were  journeying  together. 
One  carried  bags  of  money;  the  other,  sacks  filled  with  barley.  The 
former,  proud  of  his  rich  load,  carried  his  head  high,  and  made  the 
bell  on  his  neck  sound  merrily.  His  companion  followed  with 
quiet  and  gentle  paces.  On  a  sudden  some  thieves  rush  from  an 
ambuscade,  wound  the  treasure  mule,  strip  him  of  his  money  bags, 
but  leave  untouched  the  worthless  barley.  When,  therefore,  the 
sufferer  bewailed  his  sad  case,  “For  my  part,”  replied  his  compan¬ 
ion,  “I  rejoice  that  I  was  treated  with  contempt,  for  I  have  no 
wounds,  and  have  lost  nothing.”  The  subject  of  this  fable  proves 
that  poverty  is  safe,  whilst  wealth  is  exposed  to  perils. 

A  CHANGE  OF  MASTERS  NOT  A  CHANGE  OF  LABOR. 

In  a  change  of  princes  the  poor  change  nothing  but  the  name  of 
their  master.  The  truth  of  this  is  shown  by  the  following  little 
fable:  A  timid  old  man  was  feeding  his  ass  in  a  meadow.  Alarmed 
by  the  shouts  of  an  advancing  enemy  he  urged  the  ass  to  fly,  for 
fear  they  should  be  taken  prisoners.  But  the  ass  loitered,  and 
said,  “Pray,  do  you  think  that  the  conqueror  will  put  two  pack 
saddles  on  my  back?”  “No,”  replied  the  old  man.  “What,  then, 
does  it  matter  to  me  in  whose  service  I  am  so  long  as  I  have  to 
carry  my  load  ?  ” 


348 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


SEN'ECA. 

BORN  ABOUT  7  B.C. 

There  are  two  Roman  writers  of  this  name,  father  and 
son,  though  only  the  latter  deserves  to  be  classed  among 
classical  authors.  The  father,  M.  An'nseus  Sen'eca,  was 
born  at  Cordova,  Spain,  about  61  b.c.,  and  is  principally 
noted  for  his  wonderful  memory,  he  having  been  able  to 
repeat  two  thousand  disconnected  words  after  once  hearing 
them.  There  are  two  works  of  his  extant,  entitled  Contro¬ 
versies  and  Suasorice ,  elaborately  rhetorical  in  style,  and  of 
very  little  value;  the  first  being  exercises  in  judicial  oratory 
on  fictitious  occasions;  the  second,  exercises  in  deliberative 
oratory.  These  were  the  results  of  his  long  success  in 
teaching  rhetoric,  but  are  destitute  of  true  eloquence  or 
vital  warmth. 

L.  Annaeus  Seneca,  his  son,  was  born  about  the  com¬ 
mencement  of  the  Christian  era.  He  studied  oratory  at 
Rome  while  quite  young.  He  cared  more  for  philosophy, 
however,  studying  the  Pythagorean  and  Stoical  systems,  and 
traveling  in  Greece  and  Egypt.  At  his  father’s  request  he 
pleaded  in  courts  of  law;  but  his  success  seems  to  have 
aroused  the  jealousy  of  Caligula,  and  he  left  the  bar  in 
dread. 

He  afterward  filled  the  office  of  quaestor,  but  was  exiled 
to  Corsica  by  Claudius,  for  some  offense,  and  remained  eight 
years  in  exile,  studying  philosophy,  and  querulously  com¬ 
plaining  of  his  lot.  He  was  finally  recalled,  and  made  tutor 
to  young  Nero.  When  Nero,  as  emperor,  gave  way  to  his 
depraved  passions,  Seneca  lost  all  control  for  good  over  his 
pupil.  He  even  consented  to  Nero’s  murder  of  his  mother, 
and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Senate  accusing  Agrippina  of 
treason,  and  asserting  that  she  had  committed  suicide. 

He  profited  by  the  extravagant  bounty  of  the  emperor, 
and  became  enormously  rich,  his  wealth  being  equivalent  to 


SENECA. 


349 


about  twelve  million  dollars  of  our  money.  This  wealth 
finally  excited  the  envy  of  Nero,  and  Seneca,  to  avoid  dan¬ 
ger,  shrewdly  offered  to  refund  the  imperial  gifts,  and  re¬ 
tire  on  a  small  allowance.  Nero  declined  this,  and  Seneca, 
under  pretense  of  illness,  shut  himself  up,  and  ceased  to 
appear  in  public.  Nero  now  made  an  ineffectual  effort  to 
have  him  poisoned.  This  failing,  he  soon  managed  to  con¬ 
nect  him  with  Piso’s  conspiracy,  under  which  Lucan  was 
also  condemned.  An  accusation  was  quite  enough  to  fix 
Seneca’s  guilt.  He  was  condemned  to  put  himself  to  death. 
His  noble  wife,  Pauli'na,  determined  to  die  with  him,  but 
was  prevented  by  the  emperor;  and  the  old  philosopher  was 
suffocated  by  the  vapors  of  a  stove,  after  vainly  seeking 
death  through  bleeding  and  poison.  He  died  in  the  year 
65  A.D. 

As  a  man  Seneca  was  not  insincere,  but  he  lacked  the 
firmness  to  live  up  to  his  own  standard.  He  was  avaricious, 
and  retained  his  influence  over  Nero  by  base  expedients; 
yet  he  had  great  ability,  and  some  of  the  noble  qualities  of 
an  old  Roman.  He  would  have  been  a  great  man  in  the 
days  of  the  Republic. 

His  extant  works  consist  of  epistles,  and  of  ethical 
treatises  on  various  subjects,  the  best  being  On  Consolation, 
On  Providence ,  and  On  Philosophical  Constancy .  He  also 
wrote  on  physical  phenomena,  composing  a  work  called 
Qucestiones  Naturales ,  in  which  he  is  thought  to  have  antici¬ 
pated  some  of  the  principles  of  modern  physics. 

There  are  extant  ten  tragedies,  which  are  ascribed  to  him 
by  Quintilian,  but  their  real  authorship  is  a  debated  point. 
They  are  not  adapted  to  the  stage,  are  overloaded  with 
declamation,  and  are  destitute  of  dramatic  vigor,  though 
rich  in  moral  sentiments. 

His  philosophical  views  are  usually  clear  and  practical. 
He  cared,  indeed,  very  little  for  abstract  speculation,  having 
the  true  Roman  mind,  and  being  far  more  inclined  to  incul- 


850 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 

cate  than  to  investigate.  He  is,  in  fact,  more  like  a  teacher 
of  youth  than  a  philosopher,  and  gives  maxims  without  any 
accompanying  proof. 

His  Epistles  are  a  series  of  moral  essays  in  that  form, 
and  are  the  most  interesting  of  his  works.  They  are  rich 
in  varied  thought  and  natural  reflection,  and  teach  that  the 
great  end  of  science  is  to  learn  how  to  live  and  to  die. 

He  has  the  false  declamatory  style  of  his  father,  attend¬ 
ing  more  to  expression  than  to  thought,  and  elaborating  his 
writings  too  much  to  make  them  pleasant  reading.  They 
have  an  affected,  florid  and  bombastic  manner,  all  sparkle 
and  glitter,  and  lack  the  repose  and  simplicity  essential  to 
true  art. 

THE  FOLLY  OF  ANGER. 

How  vain  and  idle  are  many  of  those  tilings  that  make  us  stock 
mad !  A  resty  horse,  the  overturning  of  a  glass,  the  falling  of  a  key, 
the  dragging  of  a  chair,  a  jealousy,  a  misconstruction.  How  shall 
that  man  endure  the  extremities  of  hunger  and  thirst,  who  flies  out 
into  rage  for  putting  a  little  too  much  water  into  his  wine?  What 
haste  is  there  to  lay  a  servant  by  the  heels,  or  break  a  leg  or  an  arm 
immediately  for  it;  as  if  he  were  not  to  have  the  same  power  over 
him  an  hour  after  that  he  has  at  that  instant!  The  answer  of  a 
servant,  a  wife,  a  tenant,  puts  some  people  out  of  all  patience;  and 
yet  they  can  quarrel  with  the  government  for  not  allowing  them  the 
same  liberty  in  public  which  they  themselves  deny  to  their  own 
family.  If  they  say  nothing,  it  is  contumacy;  if  they  speak  or 
laugh,  it  is  insolence.  As  if  a  man  had  his  ears  given  him  only  for 
music,  whereas  we  must  suffer  all  sorts  of  noises,  good  and  had, 
both  of  man  and  beasts.  .  .  . 

That  was  a  blasphemous  and  sottish  extravagance  of  Cains 
Csesar,  who  challenged  Jupiter  for  making  such  a  noise  with  his 
thunder  that  he  could  not  hear  his  mimics,  and  so  invented  a  ma¬ 
chine  in  imitation  of  it,  to  oppose  thunder  to  thunder;  a  brutal 
conceit,  to  imagine,  either  that  he  could  reach  the  Almighty,  or 
that  the  Almighty  could  not  reach  him. 

And  every  jot  as  ridiculous,  though  not  so  impious,  was  that 
of  Cyrus,  who,  in  his  design  upon  Babylon,  found  a  river  in  his 
way  that  put  a  stop  to  his  march;  the  current,  being  strong,  car- 


SENECA. 


351 


riecl  away  one  of  the  horses  that  belonged  to  his  own  chariot. 
Upon  this  he  swore  that  since  it  had  obstructed  Ms  passage,  it 
should  never  hinder  anybody’s  else;  and  presently  set  his  whole 
army  to  work  upon  it,  which  diverted  it  into  an  hundred  and  four¬ 
score  channels,  and  laid  it  dry.  In  this  ignoble  and  unprofitable 
employment  he  lost  his  time,  and  the  soldiers  their  courage,  and 
gave  his  adversaries  an  opportunity  of  providing  themselves  while 
he  was  waging  war  with  a  river  instead  of  an  enemy. 

OF  IMPERTINENT  STUDIES. 

He  who  duly  considers  the  business  of  life  and  death  will  find 
that  he  has  little  time  to  spare  from  that  study;  and  yet  how  we 
trifle  away  our  hours  upon  impertinent  niceties  and  cavils!  Will 
Plato’s  imaginary  ideas  make  me  an  honest  man  ?  There  is  neither 
certainty  in  them,  nor  substance.  A  mouse  is  a  syllable;  but  a  sylla¬ 
ble  does  not  eat  cheese :  therefore  a  mouse  does  not  eat  cheese.  O  these 
childish  follies!  Is  it  for  this  that  we  spend  our  blood,  and  our 
good  humor,  and  grow  grey  in  our  closets?  We  are  jesting,  when 
we  should  be  helping  the  miserable;  as  well  ourselves  as  others. 
There  is  no  sporting  with  men  in  distress.  The  felicity  of  man¬ 
kind  depends  upon  the  councils  of  philosophers.  Let  us  rather 
consider  what  nature  has  made  superfluous  and  what  necessary; 
how  easy  our  conditions  are,  and  how  delicious  that  life  which  is 
governed  by  reason  rather  than  opinion ! 

There  are  impertinent  studies  as  well  as  impertinent  men. 
Did'ymus  the  grammarian  wrote  four  thousand  books,  wherein 
he  is  much  concerned  to  discover  where  Homer  was  born;  who 
was  ^Eneas’  true  mother;  with  other  fopperies  that  a  man  would 
labor  to  forget  if  he  knew  them.  Is  it  not  an  important  question 
which  of  the  two  was  first,  the  mallet  or  the  tongs  ?  Some  people 
are  extremely  anxious  to  know  how  many  oars  Ulysses  had ;  which 
was  first  written,  the  Iliad  or  the  Odyssey;  or  if  they  were  both 
done  by  the  same  hand.  A  man  is  never  a  jot  the  more  learned 
for  his  curiosity,  but  much  the  more  troublesome.  Am  I  ever  the 
more  just,  the  more  moderate,  valiant,  or  liberal,  for  knowing  that 
Curius  Dendatus  was  the  first  who  carried  elephants  in  triumph? 
Teach  me  my  duty  to  Providence,  to  my  neighbor,  and  to  myself; 
to  dispute,  to  doubt,  to  master  my  appetites,  and  to  renounce  the 
world. — V  Estrange. 


352 


THE  LITER  AT  URE  OF  ROME. 


STOICAL  FATALISM. 

I  am  neither  compelled  to  do  nor  to  sutler  anything  against  my 
will.  I  am  not  a  slave  to  God,  but  I  bow  to  his  will.  The  more 
so  because  I  know  that  all  tliiugs  are  fixed  and  proceed  accord¬ 
ing  to  an  everlasting  law.  Destiny  is  our  guide,  and  the  hour 
of  our  birth  has  disposed  all  the  remainder  of  our  lives.  Each 
cause  depends  upon  a  preceding  one;  a  long  chain  of  circumstances 
links  together  all  things,  both  public  and  private.  Therefore  we 
must  bear  all  things  with  fortitude,  since  all  things  come  to  pass , 
and  do  not,  as  we  suppose,  happen.  Our  joys  and  sorrows  have 
been  determined  long  ago;  and  although  a  great  variety  of  items 
distinguishes  the  lives  of  individuals,  the  sum  total  is  the  same. 
Perishable  creatures  ourselves,  that  which  we  have  received  is  per¬ 
ishable  likewise. 

LU'CAN. 

BORN  38  A.D. 

M.  An'nseus  Luca'nus,  the  great  epic  poet  of  the  decline 
of  Latin  literature,  was  a  native  of  Cordova  in  Spain,  be¬ 
ing  a  nephew  of  the  philosopher  Seneca.  Pliny  relates  a 
story  which  has  in  it  a  suspicious  flavor  of  Greek  origin, 
that  in  his  infant  days  a  swarm  of  bees  settled  on  his 
lips.  He  was  brought  by  his  father  to  Rome  while  quite 
young,  and  received  there  an  excellent  education.  He  was 
a  schoolfellow  of  the  poet  Persius,  and  a  friend  of  the 
emperor  Nero,  entering  upon  life  with  the  most  brilliant 
auspices. 

But  his  good  fortune  was  soon  overclouded.  Nero,  who 
could  not  bear  a  rival,  and  who  grew  jealous  of  Lucan’s 
poetry  and  his  fame,  forbade  his  reciting  his  verses  in  pub¬ 
lic, —  then  the  common  mode  of  publication.  He  also 
silenced  him  as  an  advocate.  Lucan,  bitter  at  this  provo¬ 
cation,  joined  a  conspiracy  against  the  emperor’s  life  in 
65  a.d.  The  plot  failed.  Lucan  was  arrested,  and  at  sight 
of  the  instruments  of  torture,  and  under  promise  of  a  par¬ 
don  if  he  should  point  out  his  associates,  he  is  said  by 
Tacitus  to  have  actually  impeached  his  own  mother. 


LUCAN. 


353 


This  base  act  failed,  however.  The  mother  was  over¬ 
looked  by  Nero,  and  a  warrant  for  Lucan’s  death  issued. 
Now  that  it  was  inevitable,  he  met  death  with  a  philosophic 
calmness,  opening  his  own  veins,  and  reciting,  as  he  bled 
to  death,  a  description  from  his  poems  of  a  soldier  dying 
of  his  wounds.  His  death  occurred  in  his  twenty-seventh 
year. 

Despite  the  faults  of  Lucan’s  character,  among  which 
vanity  and  levity  may  be  named,  he  has  gained  a  con¬ 
spicuous  place  among  the  poets  of  Rome.  The  only  work 
of  his  that  now  exists,  the  Pharsa'lia,  is  an  epic  poem  in 
ten  books,  its  subject  being  the  civil  war  between  Caesar 
and  Pompey.  In  this  he  shows  a  love  of  liberty  so  far  as 
he  dared  express  it.  He  flatters  Nero  at  the  start,  but  at 
the  end  pours  out  a  flood  of  satire  against  the  cruel  tyrant. 

As  an  epic  it  lacks  the  comprehensiveness  and  unity  of 
the  greatest  works  of  its  class,  proceeding  in  the  manner  of 
annals,  and  being  marked  by  a  style  which  is  often  turgid 
and  obscure,  and  is  full  of  the  rhetorical  affectation  of  his 
day.  But  with  all  its  faults  the  Pharsalia  affords  ample 
evidence  that  Lucan  was  a  man  of  original  and  powerful 
genius,  and  had  he  lived  to  finish  and  correct  his  poem, 
he  might  have  pruned  it  of  many  of  these  imperfections. 

He  is  inferior  to  Virgil  in  taste,  propriety  of  thought, 
elegance  of  diction  and  metrical  harmony;  but  in  original¬ 
ity,  in  imaginative  ardor,  and  in  the  display  of  character, 
he  surpasses  the  great  Augustan  poet.  He  has  an  excellent 
historic  subject,  which  he  has  treated  with  brilliancy  and 
animation,  drawing  many  noble  historical  pictures,  while 
the  characters  of  Caesar  and  Pompey  are  masterpieces  of 
word  painting.  He  has  a  taste  for  the  sublime,  both  in  the 
physical  and  moral  worlds,  and  with  it  an  epigrammatic 
felicity  which  has  secured  to  many  of  his  lines  a  constant 
freshness,  as  part  of  the  familiarly  remembered  literature 
of  the  world. 

15* 


354  THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 

His  subject  was  too  fresh  a  one  to  be  treated  with  the 
celestial  machinery  supposed  by  many  to  be  essential  to  the 
epic;  but  he  has  satisfactorily  replaced  the  supernatural  by 
his  many  splendid  descriptions,  terse  sayings  and  fine  com¬ 
parisons,  which  have  excited  much  admiration.  More  than 
half  the  Pharsalia  is  occupied  by  description,  which  is, 
indeed,  a  characteristic  feature  of  the  decline  of  Roman 
literature. 

THE  CHARACTERS  OF  CAESAR  AND  POMPEY. 

“  Nor  Caesar  can  to  aught  superior  bow, 

Nor  Pompey  bear  au  equal.  But  to  kuow 
Which  iu  the  j uster  quarrel  drew  the  sword, 

Exceeds  our  power.  Not  on  equal  terms 
Close  the  great  rivals  in  the  lists  of  war. 

The  one  declines  into  the  vale  of  life; 

Calm  in  the  habits  of  the  gown,  he  now 
Had  half  unlearned  the  chieftain’s  art,  more  apt 
To  court  the  multitude  for  noisy  fame, 

And  deal  his  liberal  largess  to  the  crowd; 

Hang  on  the  popular  breath,  and  joy  to  hear, 

Round  his  own  theatre  the  rising  shout 

Applaud  his  entrance.  Nor  with  strength  new  nerved 

Repairs  his  youthful  vigor;  but  secure 

Of  glory,  on  his  former  fortunes  leans. 

He  stood,  the  shadow  of  a  mighty  name, 

As,' on  some  acorn-teeming  plain,  an  oak 
No  longer  clings  to  vigorous  roots,  hut  stands 
By  its  own  weight  made  steadfast,  and,  in  air 
Spreading  abroad  its  bare  and  straggling  houghs, 

Makes  with  its  trunk  a  shadow,  not  with  leaves. 

.  .  .  But  no  such  name 
Of  old  renown,  nor  glory  of  the  field, 

Was  Caesar’s;  but  a  valor  that  could  brook 
No  rest:  his  only  shame  was  victory  won 
By  aught  hut  open  force;  a  spirit  keen 
And  unsubdued;  at  beck  of  sanguine  hope, 

Or  anger,  prompt  to  rush;  and  never  slow, 

On  rash  occasion’s  spur,  to  stain  the  sword. 

Fervid  to  push  success;  adroit  to  seize 


LUCAN. 


355 


The  auspicious  hour  of  fortune;  beating  clown 
All  obstacles,  while  pressing  to  the  heights; 

And  glorying  slill  to  hew  himself  a  path 
Through  havoc  and  destruction.  So,  by  winds 
Crushed  from  the  clouds,  the  glittering  lightning  breaks, 
With  roaring  of  the  agitated  air, 

And  hollow  crash  of  earth;  through  the  clear  day 
It  cleaves  a  fiery  track,  while,  terror-struck, 

The  nations  tremble;  and  their  darkening  eyes 
Are  dazzled  by  the  crooked  glare  of  flame.” 

THE  SACRED  WOOD. 

“Against  this  forest  Caesar  bade  them  lift 
The  leveling  axe.  It  grew  hard  by  the  works 
Which  the  besiegers  raised ;  and  stood  untouched 
In  former  wars,  though  all  the  mountains  round 
Were  stripped  of  all  their  shades.  But  valiant  hands 
Then  faltered.  Such  the  reverend  majesty 
That,  wrapt  the  gloomy  spot,  they  feared  the  axe, 

That  struck  those  hallowed  trees,  would  from  the  stroke 
Becoil  upon  themselves.  When  Caesar  saw 
The  legions  lingering  in  perplexed  dismay, 

He  snatched  and  poised  an  axe;  and  dared,  the  first, 

Mark  an  aerial  oak-tree  to  its  fall; 

And  plunging  in  the  violated  bark 

The  steely  edge,  exclaimed,  ‘  Lest  any  doubt 

To  fell  the  grove,  the  sacrilege  be  mine !  ’ 

The  soldiery  obeyed;  not  then  secure, 

Or  freed  from  fears;  but  weighing  in  their  thoughts 
The  wrath  of  Caesar  ’gainst  the  wrath  of  Heaven. 

Then  stooped  the  lofty  elms;  the  knotted  oaks 
And  beech-trees  of  Dodona  prostrate  bowed; 

The  forest,  bending  to  the  stroke,  yet  hung 
Suspended  in  its  fall,  and  stood  self-propped 
By  multitudinous  stems.”  — Elton. 

CAESAR  CROSSES  THE  RUBICON. 

“  Now  Caesar,  marching  swift  with  wing&d  haste, 

The  summits  of  the  frozen  Alps  had  past; 

With  vast  events  and  enterprises  fraught, 

And  future  wars  revolving  in  his  thought. 


350 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 

Now  near  the  banks  of  Rubicon  lie  stood; 

When  lo!  as  he  surveyed  the  narrow  flood, 

Amidst  the  dusky  horrors  of  the  nigflit, 

A  wondrous  vision  stood  confessed  to  sight.  * 

Her  awful  head  Rome’s  reverend  image  reared, 
Trembling  and  sad  the  matron  form  appeared; 

A  towering  crown  her  hoary  temples  bound, 

And  her  torn  tresses  rudely  hung  around ; 

Her  naked  arms  uplifted  ere  she  spoke, 

Then,  groaning,  thus  the  mournful  silence  broke: 

‘  Presumptuous  man !  oh,  whither  do  you  run  ? 

Oh,  whither  bear  you  these  my  ensigns  on! 

If  friends  to  right,  if  citizens  of  Rome, 

Here  to  your  utmost  barrier  are  you  come.’ 

She  said,  and  sunk  within  the  closing  shade. 
Astonishment  and  dread  the  chief  invade; 

Stiff  rose  his  starting  hair;  he  stood  dismayed, 

And  on  the  bank  his  slackening  steps  were  stayed. 

.  V.  ^  .  Ml 

^  ^  ^  ^ 

The  leader  now  had  passed  the  torrent  o’er, 

And  reached  fair  Italy’s  forbidden  shore; 

Then  rearing  on  the  hostile  bank  his  head, 

‘Here  farewell  peace  and  injured  laws!’  he  said; 

‘  Since  faith  is  broke,  and  leagues  are  set  aside, 
Henceforth  thou,  goddess  Fortune,  art  my  bride! 

Let  fate  and  war  the  great  event  decide.’  ” — Rowe. 

« 

DEATH  OF  POMPEY. 

“  Now  in  the  boat  defenseless  Pompey  sat, 
Surrounded  and  abandoned  to  his  fate. 

Nor  long  they  hold  him  in  their  power  aboard, 
E’en  every  villain  drew  his  ruthless  sword. 

The  chief  perceived  their  purpose  soon,  and  spread 
His  Roman  gown,  with  patience,  o’er  his  head; 
And  when  the  cursed  Achillas  pierced  his  breast, 
His  rising  indignation  close  repressed. 

No  signs,  no  groans,  his  dignity  profaned, 

No  tear  his  still  unsullied  glory  stained. 

Unmoved  and  firm  he  fixed  him  on  his  seat, 

And  died,  as  when  he  lived  and  conquered,  great.” 


STATIUS. 


357 


STA'TIUS. 

BORN  61  A.D. 

P.  Papin'  iiis  Sta'tius  was  the  son  of  a  writer  of  the 
same  name,  a  native  of  Naples,  whose  works  are  now  lost. 
The  father  opened  a  school  at  Rome,  having  the  young 
Domitian  among  his  pupils,  and  on  several  occasions  won 
the  public  prize  in  contests  for  poetry. 

The  son  inherited  his  talents,  but  in  a  superior  degree, 
becoming  very  popular,  and  on  three  occasions  winning  the 
prize  of  poetry  in  the  Alban  games.  He  basked  in  the 
sunshine  of  imperial  favor,  partly  won  by  a  gross  flattery  of 
the  tyrant;  and  died  at  Naples,  95  a.d.,  in  his  thirty-fourth 
year.  Very  little  more  is  known  about  his  life. 

He  was  the  author  of  an  epic  poem  called  The  Thehaid , 
in  the  composition  and  revision  of  which  twelve  years  of 
his  life  were  occupied.  He  also  left  an  unfinished  epic 
called  the  Achilleid ;  and  a  series  of  minor  poems  entitled 
Sylvce ,  on  which  his  fame  chiefly  rests. 

Statius  had  not  the  grasp  nor  the  imaginative  vigor 
necessary  to  success  in  epic  poetry.  His  efforts  in  this  di¬ 
rection  are  marked  by  bombast  and  affectation,  his  charac¬ 
ters  have  little  interest,  and  the  general  effect  of  his  work, 
notwithstanding  its  occasional  beauty  of  parts,  is  languish¬ 
ing  and  heavy. 

It  is  in  the  minor  poems  that  he  excels.  He  had  a 
thorough  perception  of  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  the 
faculties  necessary  to  success  in  poetry  of  this  fugitive 
character,  though  lacking  the  epic  grasp.  The  Sylvce  con¬ 
sists  of  thirty-two  separate  pieces,  whose  character  is  best 
expressed  by  their  title.  They  are  the  crude  materials 
of  thought;  a  spontaneous  and  luxuriant  growth  from  the 
native  soil  of  the  poet’s  imagination,  unpruned  and  un¬ 
trimmed,  and  free  from  the  artificial  style  of  the  finished 
work  of  his  day. 


358 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


The  Sylvce  are  full  of  truthful  pictures,  displaying  a 
natural  elegance  and  a  truth  of  perception,  with  a  facility 
of  versification  unsurpassed  except  by  Ovid.  IV^any  of  the 
poetical  incidents  which  they  contain  might  be  extracted 
as  perfect  fugitive  pieces. 

The  principal  fault  of  Statius  in  these  minor  poems  is 
his  too  great  display  of  Greek  learning,  they  being  full  of 
mythological  allusions,  which  sometimes  make  them  dry  and 
wearisome. 

FROM  THE  THEBAID. 

“  Then,  lest  her  cumbered  footsteps,  as  she  led, 

Retard  the  chiefs  who  follow  on  lier  tread; 

All!  hapless  innocent!  by  Fate  beguiled, 

On  a  soft  turf  she  lays  the  clinging  child, 

Where  pillowing  flowers  in  fragrant  tufts  arise, 

And  bis  soft  tears  with  fondling  murmurs  dries. 

So  Cybele  the  infant  Thunderer  laid; 

With  trembling  watch  her  Cretans  guard  the  shade: 

In  rival  strife  they  beat  the  timbrels  round, 

While  Ida’s  glades  with  infant  screams  resound. 

Meantime  the  boy,  amid  the  herbage  deep, 

Reclined  on  vernal  earth,  essayed  to  creep, 

With  downward  face,  self-striving  as  he  lay, 

And  trailed  through  yielding  grass  his  lengthening  way. 
Now  craved  with  asking  cry  the  balmy  breast, 

Now,  brightening  into  smiles,  his  cry  suppressed ; 

Now  with  soft  lips  in  lisping  stammerings  strove; 

Now  startled  at  the  noises  of  the  grove; 

Or  plucked  the  flowery  stems  that  near  him  lay, 

Or  with  round  mouth  sucked  in  the  breath  of  day. 

Nor  dreamed  of  dangers  lurking  in  the  shade, 

But  full  of  life,  secure  and  careless,  strayed. 

Such  infant  Mars,  where  Thracia’s  mountains  rose, 
Pressed  with  his  hardy  limbs  the  encrusted  snows: 

Such  Love,  a  winghd  babe,  was  seen  to  lie 
On  turfy  hills  of  pastoral  Arcady; 

Or  young  Apollo,  in  his  frolic  wile, 

Rolled  on  the  imprinted  sands  of  Delos’  isle. 

They  track  the  thickets,  wandering  far  and  wide, 
Through  the  green  glooms,  that  arch  on  every  side: 


STATIUS. 


359 


Outstrip  their  guide;  or  in  compacted  throng 
Impatient  following,  pour  at  once  along. 

She,  in  the  midst,  the  secret  pathway  traced, 

Though  hastening,  yet  majestic  in  her  haste. 

The  dell’s  hoarse  echo  speaks  the  river  near; 

And  pebbly  murmurs  strike  the  thrilling  ear. 

First  in  the  van,  glad  Argus  shook  on  high 
The  standard  statf;  and  ‘water’  was  the  cry. 

From  rank  to  rank  the  flying  sound  was  flung, 

And  shouts  of  ‘water!’  burst  from  every  tongue. 

So  while  the  vessel  shoots  ‘the  Epyrian  shores, 

The  helmsman’s  voice,  amid  the  clash  of  oars, 
Proclaims  Leucadia’s  height,  with  sunshine  crowned, 
And  the  shrill  rocks  with  answering  shouts  rebound. 
Impetuous  to  the  stream  they  rushed  along, 

Confused  and  mixed;  the  leaders  and  the  throng; 
Alike  their  thirst,  alike  they  cowering  clung 
To  the  cool  banks,  and  o’er  the  waters  hung. 

Plunged  with  their  cars  the  bitted  horses  flew, 

And  the  mailed  riders  ’midst  the  current  drew. 

The  whirling  eddy  and  the  slippery  rock 
Betray  their  footing  in  the  heedless  shock ; 

The  kings,  too,  strive;  all  forms  of  reverence  lost; 
Borne  down  by  hampering  crowds,  in  whirlpools  tost : 
The  friend,  in  watery  hollows  plunging,  tries 
To  raise  his  head,  with  unregarded  cries; 

The  chafed  waves  flash;  the  stream  slow-lessening  sinks 
And,  distant  from  its  feeding  fountain,  shrinks; 

The  glassy  waters,  that  were  seen  to  glide 
With  greenish  clear  transparency  of  tide, 

Discolored  mantle  in  their  troubled  bed ; 

The  crumbling  banks  with  grassy  ruin  spread 
The  muddied  stream ;  yet  still  their  lips  they  lave, 
And  slake  their  hot  thirst  in  the  slimy  wave.” 

— Elton. 

TO  HIS  WIFE,  ON  HIS  INTENDED  RETIREMENT  TO  NAPLES. 

“  Say,  why  those  gentle  looks  should  changed  appear ; 
Why  hangs  the  cloud  upon  that  forehead  clear? 

Is  it  that  thoughts  of  Naples  move  my  breast, 

And  native  fields  invite  my  age  to  rest? 


360 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


But  wherefore  sad?  no  wanton  lightness  thine; 

Not  to  the  cirque  thy  fond  regrets  incline, 

Beat  by  the  rapid  race ;  nor  shouts,  that  roll 
From  the  thronged  theatre  pervade  thy  soul. 

But  the  cool  shade  of  life  is  dear  to  thee; 

Joys  undegrading;  modest  probity. 

Whither  could  ocean’s  waves  my  bark  convey, 

Nor  thou  be  found  companion  of  my  way? 

Yes  —  did  I  seek  to  fix  my  mansion  drear 
Where  polar  icq  congeals  the  inclement  year; 

Where  the  seas  darken  round  far  Thule’s  isle, 

Or  unapproaclied  recedes  the  head  of  Nile, 

Thy  voice  would  cheer  me  on.  May  that  kind  power 
Who  joined  our  hands  when  in  thy  beauty’s  flower, 
Still,  when  the  blooming  years  of  life  decline, 

Prolong  the  blessing,  and  preserve  thee  mine! 
******** 
Tempered  by  breezy  summers,  winters  bland, 

The  waveless  seas  glide  slumbering  to  the  land; 

Safe  peace  is  here;  life’s  careless  ease  is  ours; 
Unbroken  rest,  and  sleep  till  morning  hours. 

Why  the  magnificence  of  structures  trace, 

The  fanes,  the  colonnades  of  pillared  space  ? 

The  rival  theatres  —  this  vaulted  high 
And  that,  unroofed  and  open  to  the  sky? 

The  five-year  games,  that  in  their  pompous  round, 
With  Capitoline  lustres  vie  renowned? 

Why  praise  Menander’s  scenes?  his  easy  strain, 
Transfused  with  Rome’s  free  grace  and  flowing  vein  ? 
Nor  less  the  various  charms  of  life  are  found 
Where  the  wide  champaign  spreads  its  distant  bound. 
A  thousand  pleasures  could  my  verse  expand, 

And  darling  loves  of  this  my  native  land. 

But  I  unkindly  lengthen  out  the  line 
That  dares  mistrust  a  nature  soft  as  thine: 

Yes  —  thou  wilt  come;  oh  consort!  dearest!  best! 

Nay  —  eager  spring  before  my  fond  request: 

Thou  Tyber’s  aqueducts  wilt  loathing  see, 

And  scorn  Quirinus’  roofs,  bereft  of  me.” — Elton. 


PERSIUS. 


361 


PER'SIUS. 

BORN  34  A.D. 

Au'lus  Per'sius  Flac'cus  is  the  first  Roman  satirist  of 
high  repute  after  the  days  of  Lucilius,  for  the  satires  of 
Horace  scarcely  deserve  the  name,  their  spirit  being  essen¬ 
tially  different  from  the  tone  of  bitter  invective  indulged 
in  by  the  true  satirists. 

This,  the  one  form  of  literature  on  which  the  Romans 
can  base  any  claim  to  originality  of  invention,  does  not 
seem  to  have  produced  many  experts  in  its  use,  considering 
its  popularity.  After  the  days  of  Lucilius  it  languished, 
and  not  until  the  days  of  Persius  and  Juvenal  did  it  spring 
again  into  active  life.  This  was  a  period  strongly  inviting 
satire  in  one  sense,  and  sternly  repelling  it  in  another.  A 
period  of  unequaled  vice  and  profligacy,  and  yet  a  period 
when  the  sting  of  the  satirist  was  likely  to  recoil  upon  him¬ 
self,  and  when  poets  were  executed,  and  even  burned  alive, 
for  a  single  satirical  verse  reflecting  on  the  emperors. 

Of  the  satirists  separate  from  those  mentioned  we  may 
refer  to  a  curious  satirical  work,  ascribed  to  Seneca,  in 
which  the  emperor  Claudius  is  wittily  commented  on.  In 
this  the  dead  emperor  is  translated  to  the  paradise  of 
pumpkins,  and  condemned  to  play  forever  with  a  bottom¬ 
less  dice-box. 

Another  writer,  of  very  uncertain  date,  is  Petro'nius, 
possibly  the  same  as  Petronius  Arbiter  of  the  days  of 
Nero.  The  work  ascribed  to  him  is  called  the  Satyricon. 
It  exists  only  in  fragments,  the  character  of  which  gives 
us  little  reason  to  regret  the  loss  of  the  remainder. 

There  is  also  extant  a  spirited  and  elegant  satire,  the 
work  of  a  noble  Roman  lady  named  Sulpic'ia.  Its  subject 
is  the  expulsion  of  the  philosophers  from  Rome  by  Do- 
mitian. 

Persius  was  born  at  Yollaterrse,  in  Etruria,  of  a  distin- 
1G 


362 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


guished  equestrian  family.  He  studied  rhetoric  and  gram¬ 
mar  in  Rome  in  his  younger  years,  and  at  sixteen  was 
placed  under  the  care  of  the  Stoic  philosopher  Cornu'tus. 
He  seems  to  have  lived  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the  most 
distinguished  persons  of  his  time,  was  a  close  friend  of 
young  Lucan,  and  was  acquainted  with  Seneca,  though 
apparently  he  had  a  rather  poor  opinion  of  him  and  his 
works. 

He  died  of  a  disease  of  the  stomach  in  his  twentv-eighth 
year,  leaving  a  large  fortune  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  and 
his  library,  of  seven  hundred  volumes,  to  his  tutor  and 
friend,  Cornutus. 

Modest  and  gentle  in  his  manners,  virtuous  and  pure  in 
his  whole  conduct,  he  stands  out  conspicuously  from  the 
mass  of  profligate  persons  who  formed  the  Roman  “society” 
of  his  day,  and  established  his  right  to  be  severe  by  leading 
a  blameless  life  himself. 

Persius  has  not  the  biting  severity  of  his  model,  Lucilius, 
indulging  rather  in  a  caustic  irony  similar  to  that  of  Greek 
comedy,  and  failing  to  display  the  fiery  ardor  and  unspar¬ 
ing  indignation  of  Juvenal.  He  was  by  nature  too  tender 
of  heart  and  gentle  of  disposition  to  use  the  lash  with  the 
direct  virulence  of  these  writers,  and  avoids  touching  the 
grosser  vices  prevalent  among  his  contemporaries,  though 
he  rebukes  sins  of  a  milder  mould  with  uncompromising 
severity. 

His  education  in  the  tenets  of  the  Stoics  developed  in 
him  an  indifference  to  worldly  affairs  hardly  consistent 
with  his  role  as  a  satirist.  He  cared  nothing  for  politics, 
wealth  or  splendor,  and  always  continued  more  of  a  stu¬ 
dent  than  a  man  of  the  world.  Naturally,  therefore,  he 
lashes  wickedness  in  the  abstract,  and  with  an  amiability 
and  disinterestedness  which  have  made  his  satires  always 
popular. 

His  works  consist  of  six  satires,  in  all  about  six  bun- 


PERSItTS. 


363 


dred  and  fifty  lines.  In  these  he  attacks  the  prevalent 
false  taste  in  poetry,  and  powerfully  draws  the  sensualist, 
the  hatefulness  of  envy,  the  meanness  of  avarice,  etc.  His 
language  is  terse,  homely,  and  sometimes  obscure,  from 
the  nature  of  the  allusions  and  the  expressions  used,  but 
his  dialogues  are  marked  by  great  dramatic  power.  This 
obscurity  probably  arises  largely  from  his  employing  the 
conversational  Latin  of  his  day,  forming  a  different  idiom 
from  those  of  writers  before  and  after  him. 

Persius  was  immensely  popular  in  his  own  day,  and 
throughout  the  Middle  Ages.  Several  of  the  church  fathers 
were  particularly  fond  of  him,  and  Jerome  has  made  fre¬ 
quent  use  of  his  expressions. 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  SENSUALIST. 

“Now  to  the  bath,  full  gorged  with  luscious  fare, 

See  the  pale  wretch  his  bloated  carcass  bear: 

While  from  his  lungs,  that  faintly  play  by  fits, 

His  gasping  throat  sulphureous  steam  emits! 

Cold  sliiverings  seize  him,  as  for  wine  he  calls; 

His  grasp  betrays  him,  and  the  goblet  hills! 

From  his  loose  teeth  the  lip,  convulsed,  withdraws, 

And  the  rich  cates  drop  through  his  listless  jaws. 

Then  trumpets,  torches  come,  in  solemn  state; 

And  my  fine  youth,  so  confident  of  late, 

Stretched  on  a  splendid  bier  and  essenced  o’er, 

Lies,  a  stiff  corpse,  heels  foremost  at  the  door; 

Romans  of  yesterday,  with  covered  head, 

Shoulder  him  to  the  pyre,  and  —  all  is  said.” — Gifford. 

REPREHENSION  OF  SLOTHFUL  HABITS. 

‘“What?  is  it  ever  thus?  Noon’s  entering  ray 
Broadens  the  shutter’s  chinks  with  glare  of  day; 

Yet  still  you  snoring  lie;  a  spell  of  rest 
That  might  the  surfeit-fumes  of  wine  digest. 

The  shadowed  dial  points  eleven;  arise! 

The  dog-star  heat  is  raging  in  the  skies; 

The  sun  already  burns  the  parching  wheat, 

And  the  faint  fiocks  the  spreading  elms  retreat.’ 


364 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Thus  to  liis  hopeful  charge  some  tutor  cries: 

‘Indeed?  and,  is  it  so?’  the  youth  replies: 

‘Come,  quick,  my  slave!’  Is  none  at  hand?  how  green 
His  color  instant  changes  with  the  spleen! 

He  splits  his  throat  with  rage:  a  man  would  say, 

He  heard  a  hundred  asses  deafening  bray. 

At  length  lie’s  drest;  his  book  he  handles  then, 

Fumbles  his  papers  o’er,  and  dips  his  pen. 

But  now  the  ink  in  globules  clots  the  quill ; 

Now,  too  diluted,  pale  weak  drops  distill 
From  the  pen’s  point,  and  blot  the  paper  o’er; — 

Oh  wretched  wight!  and  wretched  more  and  more, 

As  every  day  grows  old!  and  is  it  come 
To  this  at  last?  are  these  the  youth  of  Rome? 

But  why  not  rather  then  be  cockered  up 
At  home,  and  pap  and  tender  spoon-meat  sup, 

Like  royal  infants,  or  pet  doves;  and  cry, 

In  peevish  passion  at  the  lullaby? 

‘How  can  I  write  with  such  a  wretched  pen?’ 

Are  these  excuses  for  the  ears  of  men  ? 

For  ever  whining  is  this  shuffling  tone? 

Yours  is  the  loss  and  ridicule  alone. 

Your  life,  poor  silly  one!  is  flowing  by; 

Contempt  be  sure  will  glance  from  every  eye. 

The  jar  ill-baked,  when  rung,  will  shrill  betray, 

With  its  ciacked  sound,  the  raw  unhardened  clay. 

You  now  are  moist  and  ductile  loam ;  begin, 

Let  the  lathe  turn,  the  wheel  swift-circling  spin, 

And  fashion  you  to  shape.  ‘But,  I’ve  enough 
Of  victuals,  and  bright  plate,  and  household  stuff, 

And  platters,  safely  stored,  of  ample  size 
To  feed  the  fire  with  bits  of  sacrifice; 

Then  what  have  I  to  fear?’  And  is  this  all? 

And  do  you  puff  and  swell,  if  you  can  call 
Some  kinsman  censor,  wear  a  robe  of  state, 

Or  trace  your  pedigree  to  ancient  date, 

The  thousandth  from  a  Tuscan  sire? — away! 

Dazzle  the  crown  with  trappings,  as  you  may; 

My  glance  can  pierce  thee  deeper  than  thy  skin, 

Can  look  thee  through,  and  know  thee  from  within.” 

— Elton. 


JUVENAL. 


365 


SCHOOLDAY  SPORTS. 

“  Oft,  I  remember  yet,  my  sight  to  spoil, 

Oft,  when  a  boy,  I  bleared  my  eyes  with  oil ; 

Wliat  time  I  wished  my  studies  to  decline, 

Nor  make  great  Cato’s  dying  speeches  mine; 

Speeches  my  master  to  the  skies  had  raised, 

Poor  pedagogue!  unknowing  what  he  praised: 

And  which  my  sire,  suspense  ’twixt  hope  and  fear, 

With  venial  pride,  had  brought  his  friends  to  hear. 

For  then,  alas!  ’twas  my  supreme  delight 
To  study  chances  and  compute  aright 
What  sum  the  lucky  dice  would  yield  in  play, 

And  what  the  fatal  aces  sweep  away; 

Anxious  no  rival  candidate  for  fame 

Should  hit  the  long-necked  jar  with  nicer  aim; 

Nor,  while  the  whirling  top  beguiled  the  eye, 

With  happier  skill  the  sounding  scourge  apply.” 

— Gifford. 

JU'VENAL. 

FLOURISHED  ABOUT  100  A.D. 

Dec'imus  Ju'nius  Juvenalis,  the  greatest  of  Roman 
satirists,  was  the  son  of  a  freedman,  and  horn  at  Aqui'- 
num,  a  Volscian  town.  The  years  of  his  birth  and  death 
are  unknown,  and  very  little  is  on  record  concerning  his 
personal  history.  We  only  know  that  he  flourished  about 
the  close  of  the  first  century,  his  life  probably  extending 
from  the  reign  of  Nero  to  that  of  Trajan  or  of  Hadrian. 
He  died  at  about  eighty  years  of  age. 

In  his  younger  years  he  seems  to  have  practiced  as  an 
advocate,  not  appearing  as  a  satirist  until  middle  age.  In 
this  role  he  is  thought  to  have  given  offense  to  Domitian, 
probably  for  satirizing  his  favorite  actor  Paris;  and  to  have 
been  sent  to  the  frontiers  of  Egypt  in  command  of  a  cohort 
—  a  mild  form  of  banishment. 

The  times  in  which  Juvenal  lived  called  for  the  pen  of 
the  satirist  more  perhaps  than  any  other  period,  ancient  or 


366 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


modern.  It  was,  in  all  respects,  an  age  of  political  horror 
and  misery.  The  fabric  of  society  was  a  mere  ruin.  The 
popular  religion  had  died,  and  had  left  no  successor.  What 
was  called  religion  was  a  mere  empty  pomp  and  ceremony, 
that  neither  touched  the  hearts,  nor  aroused  the  faith  of  the 
people.  The  administration  of  the  state  was  a  mass  of  cor¬ 
ruption.  In  social  circles  the  grave  reserve  of  the  old  days 
of  Rome  was  lost.  Emperors  and  empresses  themselves  set 
an  example  of  folly,  profligacy  and  indecency.  Wealth  alone 
was  respected;  poverty  simply  excited  contempt.  In  polit¬ 
ical  matters  a  vote  was  merely  esteemed  at  its  value  in 
money;  players  and  dancers  had  places  of  public  importance 
in  their  gift;  the  city  was  full  of  informers,  and  every  man 
distrustful  of  his  associates.  Philosophy  was  a  cheat,  mo¬ 
rality  a  fraud;  gambling,  gluttony,  and  worse  crimes,  were 
everywhere  prevalent;  the  morals  of  men  and  women  alike 
depraved ;  the  streets  never  safe  from  robbers  and  assassins ; 
and  in  the  private  recesses  of  his  own  house  a  man  hardly 
dared  speak  his  true  sentiments;  even  a  thought  adverse  to 
the  ruling  favorite  was  dangerous. 

It  was  in  such  a  Rome  that  Juvenal  wrote,  and  such 
public  and  private  manners  are  revealed  in  his  appalling 
pictures  of  depravity  and  corruption.  As  a  man  he  was 
bold  and  fearless;  none  other  would  have  dared  to  speak 
with  his  freedom.  His  intense  hatred  of  vice  reveals  itself 
in  the  bitter  earnestness  of  his  writings.  He  was  not  a 
man  of  amiable  or  kindly  disposition,  but  was  at  once  a 
stern  moralist  and  a  fierce  critic,  grasping  vice  with  un¬ 
gloved  hands  and  with  unyielding  nerves. 

The  pen  of  Juvenal  is  not  armed  with  ridicule,  like  that 
of  Horace,  but  with  burning  indignation,  and  the  humor 
which  flashes  through  his  pages  is  of  a  scornful  and  austere 
though  pungent  kind.  He  writes  with  an  active  vehe¬ 
mence,  his  vigorous  descriptions  being  combined  with  just 
and  profound  moral  reflections. 


JUVENAL. 


367 


His  Satires  are  sixteen  in  number,  and  are  written  in  a 
clear,  powerful  style,  and  with  a  classic  elegance  of  lan¬ 
guage,  though  he  lived  in  a  time  of  degenerate  taste. 
They  are  full  of  a  vehement  but  natural  eloquence,  and 
display  a  fine  power  of  word  painting. 

The  language  is  frequently  gross.  He,  indeed,  deals 
with  gross  vices,  and  in  very  plain  terms,  but  the  public 
for  which  he  wrote  had  no  very  delicate  sense  of  the  propri¬ 
eties  of  language.  In  style  he  is  more  diffuse  than  Persius, 
but  not  less  strong,  his  luxuriance  being  that  of  a  mind  fer¬ 
tile  in  thought  and  imagery.  Of  modern  authors  he  most 
resembles  the  plain-spoken  Dr.  Johnson,  who  has  imitated 
two  of  his  best  satires. 

EMPTINESS  OF  AMBITION. 

“The  spoils  of  war:  a  coat  of  mail,  fixed  high 
On  trophied  trunk,  in  emblemed  victory; 

A  dangling  beaver  from  its  helmet  cleft; 

A  chariot’s  shivered  beam;  a  pendent  reft 
From  hoarded  galley;  and  the  captive  shown 
On  the  triumphal  arch  in  imaged  stone; 

Behold  the  sum  of  grandeur  and  of  bliss! — 

Greek,  Roman  and  barbarian  aim  at  this. 

Hence  the  hot  toil  and  hair-breadlli  peril  came, 

For  less  the  thirst  of  virtue  than  of  fame. 

Yet  has  the  glory  of  some  few  great  names 
Enwrapt  our  country  in  destroying  flames; 

This  thirst  of  praise  and  chiseled  titles,  read 
On  stones  that  guard  the  ashes  of  the  dead. 

But  a  wild  fig-tree’s  wayward  growth  may  tear 
The  rifled  tomb,  and  shake  the  stones  in  air; 

Since  sepulchres  a  human  fate  obey, 

And  vaults,  that  shrine  the  dead,  themselves  decay. 

Try  in  the  balance  Hannibal;  adjust 

The  scales;  how  much  weighs  this  big  hero’s  dust? 

This — this  is  he  whom  Afric  would,  in  vain, 

Coop  ’twixt  the  tepid  Nile  and  Moorish  main; 

Swarth  iEtliiop  tribes  his  yoke  of  empire  bore, 


368 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


And  towery  elephants  bowed  down  before. 

Spain  crouches  as  bis  vassal ;  at  a  bound 
He  high  o’erleaps  the  Pyrenean’s  mound ; 

Nature  with  Alps  and  snows  the  pass  defends; 

Through  juice-corroded  rocks  a  way  be  rends, 

And  strides  on  Italy;  yet  nought  is  won; 

He  throws  bis  glance  beyond;  ‘yet  nought  is  done, 

Till  at  Rome’s  gates  the  Punic  soldier  beats, 

And  plants  my  standard  in  her  very  streets.’ 

Ob,  bow,  in  painting,  would  that  form  enchant! 

That  blinking  hero  on  an  elephant! 

What  is  bis  end?  oh  godlike  glory!  say — 

He  flies  in  rout;  in  exile  steals  away; 

A  great  and  gazed-at  suppliant,  lo!  be  takes 
His  outdoor  station  till  a  monarch  wakes. 

Nor  swords,  nor  stones,  nor  arrows  gave  the  wound, 

And  crushed  the  soul  that  shook  the  world  around; 
What  mighty  means  the  blood-atonement  bring? 

Cannae’s  avenger  lurks  within  a  ring. 

Go!  madman,  scour  the  Alps,  in  glory’s  dream; 

A  tale  for  boys,  and  a  declaimer’s  theme! 

They  tell  of  Atlios’  mountain  sailed  with  ships; 
Those  bold  historic  lies  from  Grecian  lips; 

Of  ocean  bridged  across  with  paving  keels, 

And  hardened  waves  o’erpast  with  chariot  wheels; 

We  pin  our  faith  on  rivers  deep  that  shrank, 

And  floods  which,  at  a  meal,  the  Median  drank; 

And  all  that  marvel-mongering  poet  sings, 

That  maudlin  swan,  who  bathed  in  wine  his  wings. 

Say  how  from  Salamis  this  Sultan  passed, 

Who  lashed  the  eastern  and  the  western  blast; 

Stripes,  which  they  knew  not  in  the  JEolian  cave; 

He,  who  with  fetters  bound  the  earth-shaking  wave, 

And,  in  his  mercy  only,  spared  to  brand? — 

What!  crouched  a  god,  like  Neptune,  to  his  hand? 

Then  say,  how  passed  he  back? — behold  him  row 
One  bark,  through  bloody  waves,  with  corse-choked  prow; 
Such  is  the  glorious  fame  for  which  we  sigh, 

And  such  ambition’s  curse  and  penalty.” — Elton. 


JUVENAL. 


369 


CAUSES  OF  SATIRE. 

“Feel  we  no  gust,  e’en  in  the  public  square, 

To  scrawl  our  tablets  full;  when,  high  in  air, 

Borne  on  six  slavish  necks,  we  see  him  ride 
In  open  litter,  seen  on  every  side; 

Lolling,  Msecenas-like,  in  foppish  pride; 

Who  forged  a  signature  with  pliant  quill, 

And  simply  interlined  a  scrap  of  will, 

And  pressed  a  deftly-wetted  seal, —  to  shine 
In  this  smooth  case,  and  in  this  ease  recline? 

Can  I  refrain,  nor  on  my  quarry  prey, 

When  that  rich  matron  sails  across  my  way, 

Who  in  Calenum’s  mellow  wine  instilled 
Toad’s  juice,  and,  busy,  for  her  husband  filled? 

A  new  Locusta,  willing  to  impart 
To  inexperienced  wives  the  poisoning  art; 

And  her  fair  neighbors  teach  to  bear  along 

The  livid  husband’s  bier,  through  Rome’s  loud-babbling  throng. 

Dare  something  worthy  of  the  dungeon  floor, 

Or  banishment  to  Gyara’s  rock-pent  shore; 

Dare  this,  or  worse,  if  thou  wouldst  great  become; 

For  probity  is  praised,  and  starves  at  home. 

Gardens,  pavilions,  citron  tables,  plate 
Of  antique  fashion  and  of  massive  weight; 

Goblets  embossed  with  goats;  all,  all  their  state 
Is  owing  to  their  crimes:  then  who  can  think, 

And  let  his  eyes  in  midnight  slumber  sink? 

Mere  indignation  vents,  in  nature’s  spite, 

Such  boggling  rhymes  as  I  or  Cluvienus  write. 

Down  from  the  time  when  storms  raised  high  the  deep, 
And  old  Deucalion  on  the  mountain  steep 
Moored  his  tossed  skiff*,  and  at  the  tripod  knelt; 

When  stones  a  breathing  warmth,  slow-softening,  felt; 

When  did  a  richer  crop  of  vices  wave? 

Or  when  the  bag  of  avarice  wider  crave? 

The  gaming  fever  hotlier  burn? — when  they 
Who  haunt  the  table,  for  no  purses  play, 

But  the  strong  box  is  staked:  the  fight  runs  high, 

While  black-leg  armor-bearers  dice  supply; 

And  are  ye  not  stark  mad  a  plum  to  lose, 

Yet  to  your  shivering  slave  a  cloak  refuse?” — Elton , 


370 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


MAR'TIAL. 

BORN  43  A.D. 

Mar'cus  Vale'rius  Martia'lis  was  a  native  of  Spain,  be¬ 
ing  born  at  Bilbilis,  a  town  whose  very  site  is  now  lost. 
We  know  nothing  of  him  except  from  his  works,  and  this  is 
but  little.  Of  his  parents  he  only  tells  us  that  they  were 
fools  for  teaching  him  to  read.  He  came  to  Rome  in  his 
twenty-second  year,  the  twelfth  of  Nero’s  reign.  Here  he 
soon  became  famous  as  a  wit  and  poet,  and  enjoyed  the  pat¬ 
ronage  of  the  emperors  Titus  and  Domitian,  being  raised  by 
the  latter  to  the  rank  o'*  ourt  poet.  Despite  his  city  house 
and  country  villa,  and  his  pension  as  poet  laureate,  he  com¬ 
plains  much  of  poverty,  declaring  that  poets  only  get  com¬ 
pliments  for  their  verses,  while  every  one  else  grows  rich. 

After  residing  thirty-five  years  in  Rome  he  returned  to 
his  native  city,  where  he  married  a  rich  Spanish  lady  called 
Marcella,  with  whom  he  lived  in  affluence  till  his  death, 
about  104  a.d.  He  praises  this  rich  wife,  as  he  had  before 
flattered  his  imperial  patrons,  declaring  that  the  climate  of 
her  estate  is  so  genial  that  the  olive  groves  are  green  in 
January,  and  that  the  roses  bloom  twice  in  the  year;  and 
that  the  equal  of  his  wife  for  sweetness  of  manners  and 
rarity  of  genius  is  not  to  be  found.  Yet,  despite  this  flat¬ 
tery,  he  evidently  longs  for  the  Capital,  and  finds  his  life  a 
dull  one.  In  fact,  Martial  everywhere  shows  that  he  was  of 
a  discontented  disposition,  longing,  when  in  Rome,  for  the 
quiet  of  Bilbilis,  and  when  in  Bilbilis,  for  the  bustle  of 
Rome. 

The  Epigram,  in  its  modern  acceptation,  may  be  almost 
said  to  have  originated  with  him,  he  being  the  only  Roman 
who  achieved  fame  in  this  direction.  In  the  Greek  sense 
the  epigram  is  simply  an  inscription,  a  short,  concise  poem 
in  the  elegiac  metre,  neat  in  its  treatment,  and  without 
bitterness.  Among  the  Romans  epigrams  were  written  by 


MARTIAL. 


371 


Catullus,  Virgil  and  Ovid,  and  some  are  extant  from  the 
pens  of  Caesar,  Augustus,  Maecenas  and  Hadrian.  To  the 
grace  and  elegance  of  the  Greek  epigram  the  Roman  poets 
added  the  sting  of  satiric  bitterness,  and  an  acute  observa¬ 
tion  of  human  nature.  They  thus  invented  both  the  satire 
and  the  epigram  in  their  modern  sense;  the  latter  being 
with  them  but  a  condensed  satire,  all  its  power  and  severity 
being  concentrated  upon  a  single  point. 

Martial’s  epigrams,  which  became  very  popular  through¬ 
out  the  Roman  empire,  are  comprised  in  fourteen  books,  yet 
extant.  He  had  a  wonderful  inventiveness  and  facility  in 
this  species  of  composition,  his  works  having  always  received 
the  highest  admiration.  This,  however,  is  qualified  by  his 
grossness,  he  depicting  the  profligacy  of  Rome  in  the  most 
impure  language,  and  seeming  to  delight  in  obscenity. 

Yet,  though  his  poems  are  often  spiteful  or  immoral, 
they  are  not  all  of  this  character.  Many  of  them  are  full 
of  a  Grecian  sweetness  and  elegance,  kind-hearted  in  tone, 
and  marked  occasionally  by  pleasing  descriptions  of  nature. 
He  combines  a  ready  and  varied  wit,  poetical  imagination, 
and  happy  and  graceful  expression,  with  a  strong  sensuality. 

Martial  has  never  found  an  adequate  translator;  his 
works,  indeed,  being  of  a  kind  very  difficult  to  transmit, 
with  their  full  power  and  point,  into  another  language. 
The  great  mass  of  them  are  best  untranslated. 

O 

ON  THE  GIRL  EROTION. 

“  The  girl  that  was  to  ear  and  sight 
More  soft  of  tone,  of  skin  more  white, 

Than  plumaged  swans,  that  yield  in  death 
The  sweetest  murmur  of  their  breath: 

Smooth  as  Galesus’  soft-fleeced  flocks, 

Dainty  as  shells  on  Lucrine  rocks, 

As  red-sea  pearls,  bright  ivory’s  glow, 

Unsullied  lilies,  virgin  snow; 

Whose  locks  were  tipped  with  ruddy  gold, 

Like  wool  that  clothes  the  Baetic  fold, 


372 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Like  braided  hair  of  girls  of  Rhine, 

As  tawny  field  mouse  sleek  and  fine; 

Whose  vermeil  mouth  breathed  Psestum’s  rose, 
Or  balm  fresh  honey-combs  disclose, 

Or  amber  yielding  odor  sweet 
From  the  chafing  hand’s  soft  heat; 

By  whom  the  peacock  was  not  fair, 

Nor  squirrels  pets,  nor  phoenix  rare; 

Erotion  crumbles  in  her  urn, 

Warm  from  the  pile  her  ashes  burn; 

Ere  yet  had  closed  her  sixteenth  year 
The  Fates  accurst  have  spread  her  bier, 

And  with  her  all  I  doated  on, 

My  loves,  my  joys,  my  sports  are  gone. 

Yet  Psetus,  who  like  me  distrest, 

Is  fain  to  beat  his  mourning  breast, 

And  tear  his  hair  beside  a  grave, 

Asks,  ‘  Blush  you  not  to  mourn  a  slave  ? 

I  mourn  a  high,  rich,  noble  wife, 

And  yet  I  bear  my  lot  of  life !  ’ 

Thy  fortitude  exceeds  all  bounds, 

Thou  hast  two  hundred  thousand  pounds; 
Thou  bearest — ’tis  true  —  thy  lot  of  life; 

Thou  bearest  the  jointure  of  thy  wife.” 

TO  THE  POSSESSOR  OF  A  FINE  SEAT. 

“  So  thick  your  planes  and  laurels  spread, 

And  cypress  groves  so  rear  the  head 
High  in  the  air;  your  baths  so  wide 
Expand  their  streams  on  every  side; 

They’d  shade  and  bathe  full  half  the  town ; 
Yet  shades  and  baths  are  all  your  own. 

Your  porch  on  hundred  columns  soars; 

You  tread  on  alabaster  floors; 

The  race-horse  beats  your  dusty  ring; 
Fountains,  with  ever-wasting  spring, 

Fall  on  the  ear  with  gliding  sound, 

And  spacious  courts  are  opening  round. 

’Tis  all  so  grand  and  so  complete, 

There  is  no  room  to  sleep  or  eat; 


MARTIAL. 


373 


How  excellently  lodged,  sir,  here, 

In  this  no-lodging  you  appear!” 

TO  CAECILIANUS. 

“  ‘  Oil  times !  oh  manners !  ’  Tully  cried  of  old ; 
When  Catiline  in  impious  plots  grew  bold: 

When  in  full  arms  the  son  and  father  stood, 

And  the  sad  earth  reeked  red  with  civil  blood: 
Why  now — why  now,  ‘  oh  times !  oh  manners  ’  cry  ? 
What  is  it  now  that  shocks  thy  purity? 

No  sword  now  maddens,  and  no  chiefs  destroy, 

But  all  is  peace,  security  and  joy: 

These  times,  these  manners,  that  so  vile  are  grown, 
Prythee,  Csecilian,  are  they  not  thy  oionV ’ — Elton. 

THE  SUMMER  FLITTING. 

“When  near  the  Lucrine  lake,  consumed  to  death, 

I  draw  the  sultry  air  and  gasp  for  breath, 

Where  streams  of  sulphur  raise  a  stifling  heat, 

And  through  the  pores  of  the  warm  pumice  sweat; 
You  taste  the  cooling  breeze  where,  nearer  home, 
The  twentieth  pillar  marks  the  mile  from  Rome. 
And  now  the  Sun  to  the  bright  Lion  turns, 

And  Baia  with  redoubled  fury  burns; 

Then,  briny  seas  and  tasteful  springs,  farewell, 
Where  fountain  nymphs  confused  with  naiads  dwell, 
In  winter  you  may  all  the  world  despise, 

But  now  ’tis  Tivola  that  bears  the  prize.” — Adclison. 

TO  A  BOASTING  CHARACTER. 

“Fine  lectures  Attalus  rehearses; 

Pleads  finely;  writes  fine  tales  and  verses; 

Fine  epigrams,  fine  farces  vie 
With  grammar  and  astrology; 

He  finely  sings,  and  dances  finely; 

Plays  tennis;  fiddles  most  divinely; 

All  finely  done  and  nothing  well ; 

Then,  if  a  man  the  truth  may  tell, 

Th  is  all-accomplished  Punchinello 
Is  a  most  busy,  idle  fellow.” 


374 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


TO  CALLISTRATUS. 

“Yes,  I  am  poor,  Callistratus!  I  own; 

And  so  was  ever;  yet  not  quite  unknown, 

Graced  with  a  knight’s  degree;  nor  this  alone: 

But  through  the  world  my  verse  is  frequent  sung; 

And  ‘  that  is  he !  ’  sounds  buzzed  from  every  tongue ; 
And,  what  to  few,  when  dust,  the  Fates  assign, 

In  bloom  and  freshness  of  my  days  is  mine. 

Thy  ceilings  on  a  hundred  columns  rest; 

Wealth,  as  of  upstart  freemen,  bursts  thy  chest; 

Nile  flows  in  fatness  o’er  thy  ample  fields; 

Cisalpine  Gaul  thy  silky  fleeces  yields: 

Lo!  such  thou  art,  and  such  am  I;  like  me, 

Callistratus,  thou  canst  not  hope  to  be; 

A  hundred  of  the  crowd  resemble  thee.” — Elton. 

“  When  Arria  to  her  Pactus  gave  the  steel, 

Which  from  her  bleeding  side  did  newly  part, 

‘  From  my  own  stroke,’  she  said,  ‘  no  pain  I  feel ; 

But  ah!  thy  wound  will  stab  me  to  the  heart!’” 

PLIN'Y  THE  ELDER. 

BORN  23  A.D. 

C.  Plin'ius  Secun'dus,  usually  called  Pliny  the  Elder 
to  distinguish  him  from  his  talented  nephew,  was  born  in 
the  north  of  Italy,  either  at  Como  or  Verona.  He  was 
sent  to  Rome  while  still  young,  where  his  ample  means 
and  high  connections  secured  him  the  best  education.  At 
twenty-three  years  of  age  he  entered  the  army,  and  served 
in  Germany.  He  traveled  over  nearly  all  the  extensive 
frontier  of  the  German  region,  composing  in  the  intervals 
of  his  military  duty  a  treatise,  entitled  De  Jaculatione 
E quest n ;  and  commencing  a  history  of  the  German  wars, 
which  he  afterward  completed  in  twenty  books. 

He  subsequently  practiced  at  the  bar,  but  not  succeed¬ 
ing  well  in  this,  he  engaged  in  authorship  in  his  native 
town,  writing  his  Studiosus ,  a  treatise  on  the  training  of 


PLINY  THE  ELDER. 


375 


a  young  orator;  and  his  grammatical  work,  Dubius  Sermo, 
in  eight  books.  At  a  later  period  he  served  as  procurator 
in  Spain,  and  on  his  return  to  Rome  became  an  intimate 
friend  of  the  Emperor  Vespasian.  In  the  year  79,  the  first 
year  of  the  Emperor  Titus,  he  was  stationed  in  command 
of  the  fleet  off  Mise'num,  when  occurred  the  celebrated 
eruption  of  Vesuvius,  by  which  Hercula'neum  and  Pompe'ii 
were  overwhelmed. 

With  a  scientific  ardor  to  examine  the  phenomena  more 
closely,  Pliny  landed  at  Sta'bise,  where,  being  affected  by 
asthma,  he  became  suffocated  by  the  vapors  and  died.  His 
nephew  has  given  a  very  vivid  description  of  the  occurrence 
in  one  of  his  letters  to  the  historian  Tacitus. 

Pliny  was  one  of  the  most  ardent  and  untiring  of 
students,  being,  indeed,  a  model  of  systematic  application. 
When  living  in  the  busy  world  of  Rome  he  would  be  at 
his  studies  long  before  daybreak.  Calling  early  on  the 
emperor,  and  executing  such  commissions  as  were  given 
him,  he  would  then  take  notes  from  books  read  to  him. 
After  a  light  meal  and  a  short  sleep  he  would  resume 
his  studies  until  dinner  time;  and  even  at  this  meal  would 
have  some  book  read  to  him.  In  his  country  residence 
he  studied  almost  constantly,  and  when  on  a  journey  was 
never  without  a  secretary  at  his  elbow,  provided  with  a 
book  and  tablets.  His  nephew  says  of  him  that  he  thought 
all  time  lost  that  was  not  devoted  to  study,  and  was  the 
most  voluminous  of  writers,  leaving,  besides  his  completed 
volumes,  one  hundred  and  sixty  rolls  of  closely  written 
commentaries.  He  continues,  “  I  cannot  help  but  laugh 
when  people  call  me  studious,  for,  compared  with  him,  I 
am  the  idlest  fellow  in  the  world.” 

It  was  by  this  incessant  labor  that  he  compiled  his  Natu¬ 
ral  History,  the  only  one  of  his  numerous  works  that  is 
extant.  This  is  as  full  of  variety  as  nature  herself,  cover¬ 
ing,  in  fact,  all  the  sciences,  and  comprising  everything 


376 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


which  is  a  product  of  nature.  Indeed  he  does  not  con¬ 
fine  himself  to  this,  as  he  touches  upon  human  inventions 
and  the  history  of  the  fine  arts. 

The  work  is  divided  into  thirty-seven  books,  and  embraces, 
as  we  are  told  in  the  preface,  twenty  thousand  matters  of 
importance,  extracted  from  about  two  thousand  volumes. 
It  is  a  great  monument  of  diligence  in  study  and  perse¬ 
vering  industry,  being  composed,  as  it  was,  in  the  brief 
intervals  of  a  life  otherwise  actively  engaged;  and  it  is 
very  valuable  in  supplying  us  with  details  on  a  great 
variety  of  subjects  concerning  which  we  have  no  other 
means  of  information. 

But  it  has  a  very  small  scientific  value.  It  is  not  a 
record  of  original  research,  but  is  chiefly  a  compilation, 
and  shows,  at  once,  a  confused  arrangement,  and  small  dis¬ 
crimination  in  selecting  the  true  from  the  false,  the  prob¬ 
able  from  the  marvelous.  He  fails  to  give  a  correct  view 
of  the  science  of  his  own  day,  but  reproduces  errors,  and 
gives  to  myths  as  much  authority  as  to  late  discoveries. 
Thus  he  gravely  tells  us  of  men  whose  feet  were  turned 
backward;  of  others  whose  feet  were  so  large  as  to  shade 
them  when  they  lay  in  the  sun;  and  of  others  without 
mouths,  who  fed  on  the  fragrance  of  fruits  and  flowers. 
Among  lower  animals  he  tells  of  horned  and  winged  horses; 
and  of  the  Mantichora,  with  the  face  of  a  man,  three  rows 
of  teeth,  a  lion’s  body,  and  a  scorpion’s  tail.  The  seas  are 
peopled,  not  only  with  sea-goats  and  sea-elephants,  but  with 
real  Nereids  and  Tritons;  while  fire  produces  an  insect 
which  cannot  live  except  in  the  midst  of  the  flames.  We 
give  some  extracts  showing  his  ready  credulity. 

His  work  commences  with  a  theory  of  the  universe,  and 
a  history  of  astronomical  and  meteorological  phenomena; 
then  follow  geology,  physical  and  political  geography, 
zoology  and  botany.  These  are  succeeded  by  descriptions 
of  medicinal  and  mineral  substances,  with  the  uses  of  the 


PLINY  THE  ELDER. 


377 


latter  in  the  fine  arts,  and  finally  by  anecdotes  and  a  his¬ 
tory  of  art  and  artists.  This  latter  forms  the  most  valuable 
and  pleasing  portion  of  the  work. 

In  style  Pliny  is  florid,  yet  is  full  of  vigor  and  express¬ 
iveness.  His  meaning  is  often  obscure,  but  this  is  less  a 
result  of  style  than  of  lack  of  knowledge,  as  he  usually 
wrote  of  things  with  which  he  was  personally  unacquainted, 
and  often  missed  the  true  sense  of  the  authors  whom  he 
cites  or  translates. 

His  work  has  been  translated  into  almost  all  European 
languages,  and.  has  been  annotated  by  Cuvier  and  other 
distinguished  French  scientists. 


SEA-MONSTERS  OF  THE  INDIAN  OCEAN. 

But  the  most  enormous  and  largest  of  all  these  animals  are  to  be 
found  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  among  which  are  Balaeme,  four  jugera* 
in  extent,  and  the  Pristis,  two  hundred  cubits  long;  here  are  also 
cray-fisli  four  cubits  in  length,  and  in  the  river  Ganges  there  are  to 
be  seen  eels  three  hundred  feet  long.  But  at  sea  it  is  more  especially 
about  the  time  of  the  solstices  that  these  monsters  are  to  be  seen; 
for  then  it  is  that  in  these  regions  the  whirlwind  comes  sweeping 
down,  hurled  from  the  mountain  heights,  while  the  sea  is  stirred  up 
from  the  very  bottom,  and  the  monsters  are  driven  from  their  depths 
and  rolled  upward  on  the  crest  of  the  billows. 

At  other  times,  again,  there  are  such  vast  multitudes  of  tunnies 
met  with  that  the  fleet  of  Alexander  the  Great  was  able  to  make 
head  against  them  only  by  facing  them  in  order  of  battle,  just  as  it 
would  have  done  an  enemy’s  fleet.  Had  the  ships  not  done  this, 
but  proceeded  in  a  straggling  manner,  they  could  not  possibly  have 
made  their  escape.  No  noises,  no  sounds,  no  blows,  had  any  effect 
on  these  fish ;  by  nothing  short  of  the  clash  of  battle  were  they  to 
he  terrified,  and  by  nothing  less  than  their  utter  destruction  were 
they  overpowered. 

There  is  a  large  peninsula  in  the  Red  Sea  known  by  the  name  of 
Cadara;  as  it  projects  into  the  deep  it  forms  a  vast  gulf,  which  it 
took  the  fleet  of  King  Ptolemy  twelve  whole  days  and  nights  to 
traverse,  by  dint  of  rowing,  for  not  a  breath  of  wind  was  to  be  per- 


*  A  jugerum  measures  240  by  120  feet. 


378 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


ceived.  In  the  recesses  of  this  becalmed  spot  more  particularly  the 
sea-monsters  attain  so  vast  a  size  that  they  are  quite  unable  to  move. 

.  .  .  The  commanders  of  the  fleets  of  Alexander  the  Great  have 

related  that  the  Gedrosi,  who  dwell  upon  the  banks  of  the  river 
Arabis,  are  in  the  habit  of  making  the  doors  of  their  houses  with 
the  jaw-bones  of  flslies,  and  raftering  the  roofs  with  their  bones, 
many  of  which  are  often  as  much  as  forty  cubits  in  length.  At  this 
place,  too,  they  say  monsters  just  like  so  many  cattle  were  in  the 
habit  of  coming  on  shore,  and  after  feeding  on  the  roots  of  shrubs 
they  would  return ;  some  of  them,  which  had  the  heads  of  horses, 
asses  and  bulls,  found  a  pasture  in  the  crops  of  grain. 

THE  PEACH. 

The  name  of  Persica,  or  Persian  apple,  given  to  this  fruit,  fully 
proves  that  it  is  an  exotic  in  Greece  as  well  as  in  Asia,  and  that  it 
was  first  introduced  from  Persis.  As  to  the  wild  plum,  it  is  a  well 
known  fact  that  it  will  grow  anywhere ;  as  to  the  peach  tree,  it  has 
been  only  introduced  of  late  years,  and  with  considerable  difficulty; 
so  much  so  that  it  is  perfectly  barren  in  the  isle  of  Rhodes,  the  first 
resting-place  that  it  found  after  leaving  Egypt.  It  is  quite  untrue 
that  the  peach  which  grows  in  Persia  is  poisonous,  and  produces 
dreadful  tortures,  or  that  the  kings  of  that  country,  from  motives  of 
revenge,  had  it  transplanted  to  Egypt,  where,  through  the  nature  of 
the  soil,  it  lost  its  evil  properties;  for  we  find  that  it  is  of  the  “Per- 
sea”  that  the  more  careful  writers  have  stated  all  this,  a  totally  dif¬ 
ferent  tree,  which  cannot  be  successfully  cultivated  anywhere  but 
in  the  East, 

THE  EVIL  EYE. 

There  are  some  persons  who  have  the  power  of  fascination  with 
the  eyes,  and  can  even  kiil  those  on  whom  they  fix  their  gaze  for 
any  length  of  time,  more  especially  if  their  look  denotes  anger.  A 
still  more  remarkable  circumstance  is  the  fact  that  these  persons 
have  two  pupils  in  each  eye.  Apollon'ides  says  there  are  certain 
females  of  this  description  in  Scythia;  and  Pliylar'chus  states  that 
a  tribe  of  the  Thibii  in  Pontus,  and  many  other  persons  as  well, 
have  a  double  pupil  in  one  eye,  and  in  the  other  the  figure  of  a 
horse.  He  also  remarks  that  the  bodies  of  these  persons  will  not 
sink  in  water,  even  though  weighed  down  with  their  garments. 

Damon  gives  an  account  of  a  race  of  people  not  very  much 
unlike  them,  whose  perspiration  is  productive  of  consumption  to 


PLINY  THE  YOUNGER. 


379 


the  body  of  any  other  person  that  it  touches.  Cicero,  also,  one  of 
our  own  writers,  makes  the  remark  that  the  glance  of  all  women 
who  have  a  double  pupil  is  noxious. — Riley. 


PLIN'Y  THE  YOUNGER. 

BORN  61  A.D. 

C.  Plin'ius  Csecil'ius  Secun'dus,  nephew  and  adopted  son 
of  the  preceding  author,  and  his  superior  in  literary  talent, 
though  not  in  industry,  was  born  at  Como,  the  seat  of  the 
family  estate  of  the  Plinys.  He  was  still  young  when  he 
lost  his  father,  and  was  adopted  by  his  uncle,  who  gave  the 
greatest  attention  to  his  education.  Passionately  devoted 
to  literature,  he  wrote  a  Greek  tragedy  before  he  was  fifteen 
years  of  age;  studied  elocpience  under  Quintilian;  and  be¬ 
came  so  famous  for  his  literary  accomplishments  that  he 
acquired  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  most  learned 
men  of  the  age. 

He  also  gained  celebrity  as  an  advocate,  beginning  to 
speak  in  the  forum  in  his  nineteenth  year.  He  afterward 
held  many  important  official  positions,  obtaining  the  office 
of  consul  in  100  a.d.,  when  he  wrote  his  Panegyrics ,  a  cour¬ 
tier’s  eulogium  of  the  emperor  Trajan,  of  little  value  to 
modern  readers. 

Our  knowledge  of  Pliny  the  Younger  is  mainly  derived 
from  his  Epistolce ,  or  letters,  which  form  ten  books.  They 
were  collected  by  himself,  and  probably  many  of  them  were 
written  with  a  view  to  publication.  These  letters  are  very 
valuable  for  the  insight  which  they  afford  into  his  own 
character,  and  into  the  manners  and  thoughts  of  his  illus¬ 
trious  contemporaries,  as  well  as  the  politics  of  his  day. 
The}^  hold  a  high  place  in  epistolary  literature,  being  charm¬ 
ingly  written,  lively  in  their  descriptions,  elegant  and  simple 
in  style,  and  little,  if  at  all,  inferior  to  the  letters  of  Cicero, 
his  model. 


380 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


He  is  always  accurate  and  judicious,  neat  in  manner, 
and  has  a  decided  taste  for  the  beautiful,  as  also  the  talent 
of  giving  a  peculiar  interest  to  every  subject  about  which 
he  writes,  a  note  of  thanks  being  as  skillfully  written  as  an 
elaborate  dispatch  to  the  emperor.  His  descriptive  power 
is  shown  in  his  account  of  the  eruption  of  Vesuvius,  which 
we  quote.  His  letters  are  also  of  great  interest  in  the 
knowledge  they  give  us  of  the  treatment  of  the  Christians 
in  his  day. 

Our  acquaintance  with  the  character  of  Pliny  is  derived 
solely  from  these  letters,  which  present  him  to  us  as  a 
gentle,  liberal,  refined  and  benevolent  man,  genial  and 
philanthropic  in  disposition,  and  always  an  indulgent  master 
to  his  slaves.  He  kept  through  life  his  early  love  of  literary 
pursuits,  and  displayed  a  fondness  for  improving  his  estate 
by  architectural  ornament. 

His  naturally  weak  constitution  was  impaired  through¬ 
out  life  by  ill-health,  but  of  the  time  or  cause  of  his  death 
we  know  nothing. 

LETTER  TO  TACITUS  ON  THE  ERUPTION  OF  VESUVIUS. 

After  my  uncle’s  departure  I  spent  some  time  in  study  (for  that 
was  my  object  in  remaining  behind).  I  then  bathed  and  supped, 
and  had  some  broken  and  restless  sleep.  For  many  days  previously 
shocks  of  an  earthquake  had  been  felt;  but  they  caused  less  alarm 
because  they  are  usual  in  Campa'nia;  but  on  that  night  they  were 
so  violent  that  it  was  thought  they  would  not  only  shake,  but  over¬ 
turn  everything.  My  mother  burst  into  my  bed-chamber ;  I  was  just 
rising  in  order  to  arouse  her,  in  case  she  should  be  asleep.  We  sat 
down  in  the  court  which  divided  the  house  from  the  sea.  I  know 
not  whether  to  call  this  courage  or  imprudence,  for  I  was  only  in  my 
eighteenth  year.  I  asked  for  a  volume  of  Livy,  and  began  to  read 
it  leisurely  and  to  make  extracts. 

Well,  a  friend  of  my  uncle  came  in  who  had  lately  arrived  from 
Spain,  and  when  he  saw  us  sitting  together,  and  me  reading,  he  re¬ 
buked  his  patience  and  my  “insousance.”  Still  I  was  not  the  less 
for  that  absorbed  in  my  book.  It  was  now  seven  o’clock,  and  the 


PLINY  THE  YOUNGER. 


381 


dawn  broke  faintly  and  languidly.  The  surrounding  buildings  were 
tottering;  and  the  space  in  which  we  were  being  limited  in  extent, 
there  was  great  reason  to  tear  their  fall.  We  then  resolved  to  leave 
town.  The  populace  followed  in  alarm. 

When  at  a  sufficient  distance  from  the  buildings  we  halted,  and 
witnessed  many  a  wonderful  and  alarming  phenomenon.  The  car¬ 
riages  which  we  had  ordered  to  be  brought  out,  although  the  ground 
was  very  level,  rolled  in  different  directions,  and  even  stones  placed 
under  the  wheels  could  not  stop  them.  The  sea  ebbed  and  seemed 
to  be  repelled  by  the  earthquake.  The  coast  certainly  had  advanced, 
and  detained  many  marine  animals  on  dry  land.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  heavens  hung  a  dark  and  awful  cloud,  riven  by  wreathed  and 
quivering  lines  of  fiery  vapor,  in  . long  flashes  resembling  lightning, 
but  larger. 

Then  our  friend  from  Spain  exclaimed,  with  eagerness  and  ve¬ 
hemence,  “  If  your  relative  lives,  he  doubtless  wishes  your  safety;  if 
he  has  perished,  he  wished  you  to  survive  him.  Why  then  do  you 
delay  to  escape?  ”  Our  answer  was,  “  We  will  not  think  of  our  own 
safety  so  long  as  we  are  uncertain  of  his.”  Without  any  more  delay 
he  hurried  off,  and  was  soon  beyond  the  reach  of  danger. 

Soon  the  cloud  descended  to  the  earth,  and  brooded  over  the  sea; 
it  shrouded  Caprese,  and  hid  from  our  eyes  the  promontory  of  Mi- 
senum.  My  mother  besought,  entreated,  nay,  commanded  me  to  fly, 
by  all  means.  She  felt  that,  weighed  down  by  years  and  infirmity, 
she  should  die  contented  if  she  had  not  been  the  cause  of  my  death. 

I,  on  the  other  hand,  persisted  that  I  would  not  seek  safety  except 
with  her.  I  took  her  by  the  hand  and  forced  her  to  go  forward. 
She  obeyed  reluctantly,  and  blamed  herself  for  delaying  me.  Ashes 
now  began  to  fall,  though  as  yet  in  small  quantities.  I  looked  back ; 
behind  us  was  thick  darkness,  which  poured  over  the  earth  like  a 
torrent. 

“  Let  us  turn  aside  from  the  road,”  said  I,  “  whilst  we  can  see, 
for  fear  we  should  be  thrown  down  and  trampled  under  foot  by  the 
crowd  in  the  darkness.”  We  had  scarce  time  ere  we  were  enveloped 
in  darkness;  not  like  that  of  a  moonless  night,  or  clouds,  but  like 
that  of  a  room  shut  up  when  the  lights  are  extinguished.  Then 
were  heard  the  shrieks  of  women,  the  wailings  of  infants,  the  shouts 
of  men;  some  were  calling  for  their  parents,  others  for  their  wives, 
whom  they  could  only  recognize  by  their  voices.  Some  bewailed 
their  own  misfortune,  others  that  of  their  family;  some  even,  from 
the  fear  of  death,  prayed  for  death.  Many  lifted  up  their  hands  to 


3S2 


TIIE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


the  Gods;  still  more  believed  that  there  were  no  Gods,  and  that  the 
last  eternal  night  had  overwhelmed  the  world.  There  were  not 
wanting  some  to  increase  the  real  danger  by  fictitious  and  imagi¬ 
nary  terrors;  and  some  brought  word  that  the  conflagration  was 
at  Misenum;  the  false  intelligence  met  with  credence. 

By  degrees  the  light  returned;  but  it  seemed  to  us  not  the  re¬ 
turn  of  day,  but  the  indication  that  the  fire  was  approaching.  Its 
progress,  however,  was  arrested  at  some  distance;  again  darkness 
succeeded,  with  showers  of  ashes.  Every  now  and  then  we  got  up 
and  shook  them  oft'  from  us,  otherwise  we  should  have  been  over¬ 
whelmed  and  bruised  by  their  weight.  I  might  boast  that  not  a 
groan  or  unmanly  expression  escaped  me  in  the  midst  of  my  dan¬ 
gers,  were  it  not  that  my  firmness  was  founded  on  the  consolatory 
belief  that  all  mankind  was  involved,  together  with  myself,  in  one 
common  ruin. 

At  length  the  darkness  cleared  up,  and  dispersed  like  smoke  or 
mist.  Real  daylight  succeeded ;  even  the  sun  shone  forth,  but  with 
a  lurid  light  as  when  eclipsed.  The  aspect  of  everything  which 
met  our  astonished  eyes  was  changed :  ashes  covered  the  ground 
like  a  deep  snow.  We  returned  to  Misenum  and  refreshed  our¬ 
selves,  and  passed  an  anxious  night  in  alternate  hopes  and  fears; 
the  latter,  however,  predominated.  The  earthquake  still  continued; 
and  many,  in  a  state  of  frenzy,  made  a  mockery  of  their  own  and 
their  neighbors’  misfortunes  by  terrific  prophecies. 

EXTRACT  FROM  A  LETTER  TO  TRAJAN  CONCERNING  THE 

CHRISTIANS. 

I  have  never  been  present  at  the  trials  of  Christians,  and  there¬ 
fore  I  do  not  know  in  what  way,  or  to  what  extent,  it  is  usual  to 
question  or  punish  them.  I  have,  also,  felt  no  small  difficulty  in 
deciding  whether  age  should  make  any  difference,  or  whether  those 
of  the  tenderest,  and  those  of  mature  years,  should  be  treated  alike; 
whether  pardon  should  be  accorded  to  repentance,  or  whether, 
where  a  man  has  once  been  a  Christian,  recantation  should  profit 
him;  whether,  if  the  name  of  Christian  does  not  imply  criminality, 
still  the  crimes  peculiarly  belonging  to  the  name  should  be  pun¬ 
ished. 

Persecution  itself,  as  is  generally  the  case,  has  caused  the  crime 
to  spread,  and  to  appear  in  new  forms.  Anonymous  information 
was  laid  against  a  large  number  of  persons,  but,  as  they  invoked 
the  Gods,  and  offered  prayers  to  your  image,  and  besides  cursed 


SUETONIUS. 


383 


Christ,  whilst  those  who  are  true  Christians,  it  is  said,  cannot  he 
compelled  to  do  any  of  these  things,  I  thought  it  right  to  set 
them  at  liberty.  Others  confessed  that  they  had  been  Christians, 
but  had  ceased  to  be  years  previously.  They  affirmed  that  the  sum 
total  of  their  fault  or  error  was  that  they  were  accustomed  to  as¬ 
semble  on  a  fixed  day,  before  dawn,  to  sing  an  anti  phonal  hymn 
to  Christ  as  God ;  and  that  they  bound  themselves  by  an  oath,  not 
to  the  commission  of  any  wickedness,  but  to  abstain  from  theft 
and  robbery,  never  to  break  a  promise,  or  to  deny  a  deposit  when 
it  was  demanded  back. 

Many  of  every  age,  sex  and  rank  are,  and  will  continue  to  be, 
called  in  question.  The  infection,  in  fact,  has  spread  not  only 
through  the  cities,  but  also  through  the  villages  and  open  coun¬ 
try;  but  it  seems  that  its  progress  can  be  arrested. 


SUETO'NIUS. 

BORN  ABOUT  G8  A.D. 

C.  Suetonius  Tran'quillus,  was  born  probably  a  few 
years  after  the  death  of  Nero,  and  was  the  son  of  a  tribune 
of  the  thirteenth  legion  under  Otho.  He  was  a  warm  friend 
of  the  younger  Pliny,  by  whom  he  is  highly  praised,  and 
was  probably  a  teacher  of  grammar  and  rhetoric.  Pliny 
procured  him  the  dignity  of  military  tribune,  which,  at  the 
desire  of  Suetonius,  was  transferred  to  another.  He  after¬ 
ward  received  marks  of  special  favor,  through  Pliny’s  in¬ 
terest,  from  the  emperor  Trajan,  and  served  as  secretary 
to  the  emperor  Adrian.  The  date  of  his  death  is  unknown. 

His  fame  rests  upon  his  historical  and  miscellaneous 
writings,  his  extant  works  being  the  following:  Lives  of 
the  Twelve  Ccesars,  Lives  of  Eminent  Grammarians,  and 
Lives  of  Eminent  Rhetoricians,  the  latter  work  being  ex¬ 
tant  in  part  only.  It  includes  lives  of  the  poets  Persius, 
Lucan,  Juvenal,  Terence  and  Horace. 

The  work  by  which  he  is  most  favorably  known  is  his 
Lives  of  the  Caesars,  from  Julius  to  Domitian,  which  is 
replete  with  information  to  be  had  nowhere  else,  and 


384 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


abounds  with  anecdotes  which  prove  at  once  the  profligacy 
of  his  characters  and  the  impartiality  of  their  chronicler. 
It  manifests  a  diligent  research  into  original  documents. 

Private  letters  of  the  emperors  and  their  dependents, 
and  anecdotes  of  their  private  lives,  were  then  extant;  of 
all  of  which  he  has  freely  availed  himself,  drawing  a 
terrible  picture  of  the  times  whose  character  is  also  re¬ 
vealed  to  us  by  Juvenal  and  Tacitus.  He  has  no  enlarged 
views  or  definite  historical  plan,  being  more  of  a  biogra¬ 
pher  than  a  historian,  and  dwelling,  as  if  with  pleasure, 
on  the  gross  profligacy  of  the  emperors. 

CAEAC'  TACUS. 

In  the  interior  parts  of  Britain  the  natives,  under  the  command 
of  Caractacus,  maintained  an  obstinate  resistance,  and  little  pro¬ 
gress  was  made  by  the  Roman  arms  until  Ostorius  Scapula  was 
sent  over  to  prosecute  the  war.  He  penetrated  into  the  country 
of  the  Silures,  a  warlike  tribe  who  inhabited  the  banks  of  the 
Severn;  and  having  defeated  Caractacus  in  a  great  battle,  made 
him  prisoner  and  sent  him  to  Rome. 

The  fame  of  the  British  prince  had,  by  this  time,  spread  over 
the  provinces  of  Gaul  and  Italy,  and  upon  his  arrival  in  the  Roman 
capital  the  people  flocked  from  all  quarters  to  behold  him.  The 
ceremonial  of  his  entrance  was  conducted  with  great  solemnity. 
On  a  plain  adjoining  the  Roman  camp  the  Praetorian  troops  were 
drawn  up  in  martial  array;  the  emperor  and  his  court  took  their 
station  in  front  of  the  lines,  and  behind  them  was  ranged  the  whole 
body  of  the  people. 

The  procession  commenced  with  the  different  trophies  which 
had  been  taken  from  the  British  during  the  progress  of  the  war. 
Next  followed  the  brothers  of  the  vanquished  prince,  with  his  wife 
and  daughter  in  chains,  expressing  by  their  supplicating  looks 
and  gestures  the  fears  with  which  they  were  actuated.  But  not  so 
Caractacus  himself.  With  a  manly  gait,  and  an  undaunted  counte¬ 
nance,  he  marched  up  to  the  tribunal  where  the  emperor  was  seated, 
and  addressed  him  in  the  following  terms: 

“If  to  my  high  birth  and  distinguished  rank  I  had  added  the 
virtues  of  moderation,  Rome  had  beheld  me  rather  as  a  friend  than 
a  captive,  and  you  would  not  have  rejected  an  alliance  with  a 


SUETONIUS. 


385 


prince  descended  from  illustrious  ancestors,  and  governing  many 
nations.  The  reverse  of  my  fortune  to  you  is  glorious,  and  to  me 
humiliating.  I  had  arms,  and  men,  and  horses;  I  possessed  ex¬ 
traordinary  riches;  and  can  it  be  any  wonder  that  I  was  unwilling 
to  lose  them?  Because  Home  aspires  to  universal  dominion,  must 
men,  therefore,  implicitly  resign  themselves  to  subjection?  I  op¬ 
posed  for  a  long  time  the  progress  of  your  armies;  had  I  acted 
otherwise  would  you  have  had  the  glory  of  conquest,  or  I  of  a 
brave  resistance?  I  am  now  in  your  power;  if  you  are  determined 
to  take  revenge  my  fate  will  soon  be  forgotten,  and  you  will  derive 
no  honor  from  the  transaction.  Preserve  my  life,  and  I  shall  re¬ 
main,  to  the  latest  days,  a  monument  of  your  clemency.” 

Immediately  upon  this  speech  Claudius  granted  him  his  liberty, 
as  he  did  likewise  to  the  other  royal  captives.  They  all  returned 
their  thanks  in  a  manner  the  most  grateful  to  the  emperor;  and 
as  soon  as  their  chains  were  taken  off,  walking  toward  Agrippina, 
who  sat  upon  a  bench  at  a  little  distance,  they  repeated  to  her  the 
same  fervent  declarations  of  gratitude  and  esteem.  History  has 
preserved  no  account  of  Caractacus  after  this  period ;  but  it  is  prob¬ 
able  that  he  returned,  in  a  short  time,  to  his  own  country,  where 
his  former  valor,  and  the  magnanimity  which  he  had  displayed 
at  Rome,  would  continue  to  render  him  illustrious  for  life,  even 
midst  the  irretrievable  ruin  of  his  fortunes. 

cic'ero. 

Such  were  the  literary  productions  of  this  extraordinary  man, 
whose  comprehensive  understanding  enabled  him  to  conduct  with 
superior  ability  the  most  abstruse  disquisitions  into  moral  and  meta¬ 
physical  science.  Born  in  an  age  posterior  to  Socrates  and  Plato, 
he  could  not  anticipate  the  principles  inculcated  by  these  divine 
philosophers,  but  he  is  justly  entitled  to  the  praise,  not  only  of  hav¬ 
ing  prosecuted  with  unerring  judgment  the  steps  which  they  trod 
before  him,  but  of  carrying  his  researches  to  a  greater  extent,  even 
into  the  most  difficult  regions  of  philosophy. 

As  a  philosopher  his  mind  appears  to  have  been  clear,  capacious, 
penetrating  and  insatiable  of  knowledge.  As  an  orator  he  was  en¬ 
dued  with  every  talent  that  could  captivate  either  the  judgment 
or  taste.  His  researches  were  continually  employed  on  subjects  of 
the  greatest  utility  to  mankind,  and  those  often  such  as  extended 
beyond  the  narrow'  bounds  of  temporal  existence. 


386 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


The  variety  and  force  of  the  arguments  which  he  advances,  the 
splendor  of  his  diction,  and  the  zeal  with  which  he  endeavors  to 
excite  the  love  and  admiration  of  virtue;  all  conspire  to  place  his 
character  as  a  philosophical  writer,  including  likewise  his  incom¬ 
parable  eloquence,  on  the  summit  of  human  celebrity. 

QUINTIL'IAN. 

BORN  40  A.D. 

M.  Fa'bius  Quintilia'nus,  the  celebrated  rhetorician,  was, 
like  Lucan,  Martial  and  the  two  Senecas,  a  native  of  Spain, 
being  born  at  Calagu'ris  (the  modern  Calahorra).  He  came 
while  young  to  Rome,  and  studied  oratory  under  a  distin¬ 
guished  teacher.  He  afterward  revisited  Spain,  and  came 
again  to  Rome  in  the  year  68,  attaining  there  considerable 
reputation  as  an  advocate. 

His  principal  distinction,  however,  was  as  a  teacher,  his 
instructions  being  eagerly  sought  for,  while  among  his 
pupils  were  numbered  Pliny  the  younger  and  the  two 
grand-nephews  of  the  emperor  Domitian.  He  also  re¬ 
ceived,  as  a  special  mark  of  favor,  the  title  of  consul,  and 
was  the  first  teacher  to  be  paid  a  fixed  salary  from  the 
imperial  exchequer.  His  career  as  a  teacher  extended  over 
a  period  of  twenty  years,  he  retiring  into  private  life  about 
the  year  90,  and  dying  about  118. 

The  reputation  of  Quintilian  is  founded  on  his  great 
work,  De  Institutione  Oratoria ,  or  Complete  Instructor  in  the 
Art  of  Oratory.  It  was  written  after  he  had  ceased  to  be  a 
teacher,  for  the  instruction  of  his  eldest  son,  and  embodies 
his  life’s  experience  in  the  art.  This  is  a  work  of  the  great¬ 
est  value,  being  as  far  superior  to  the  work  of  Cicero  on  the 
same  subject  as  Cicero  was  superior  to  Quintilian  as  an 
orator.  One  of  its  important  features  is  its  comprehensive¬ 
ness,  covering  the  whole  ground  of  the  art  from  the  cradle 
to  the  rostrum,  and  elucidating  its  every  branch  and  con¬ 
nection. 


QUINTILIAN. 


387 

In  his  first  book  he  discusses  the  preliminary  training 
through  which  a  youth  must  pass,  from  the  nursery  until 
he  is  prepared  to  take  up  the  study  of  oratory.  The  second 
treats  of  the  principles  of  rhetoric;  the  five  following,  of 
invention  and  arrangement,  and  the  succeeding  four  of 
composition  and  delivery.  The  last  book  is  devoted  to  the 
qualifications  necessary  to  form  a  finished  orator,  such  as 
manners,  moral  character,  mode  of  conducting  causes,  etc. 

In  the  opening  of  the  tenth  book  he  gives  a  brief  but 
clear  and  decided  survey  of  the  whole  course  of  Greek  and 
Roman  literature,  which  has  been  always  admired  for  its 
correctness  and  animation.  He  draws  the  great  authors  of 
antiquity  with  the  utmost  ability,  and  this  part  of  his  work 
is  unsurpassed  in  the  annals  of  criticism. 

The  entire  work,  in  fact,  is  marked  by  the  soundest  crit¬ 
ical  judgment,  purity  of  taste,  and  perfect  familiarity  with 
the  literature  of  oratory.  The  subject  is  exhausted,  and  his 
work  a  masterlv  text- book  of  the  art. 

Besides  this  production  there  have  been  attributed  to 
him  a  series  of  declamations,  one  hundred  and  sixty-four 
in  number.  But  these  are  no  longer  considered  to  be  his, 
as  they  evidently  belong  to  different  authors,  and  even  to 
different  epochs. 

The  anonymous  Dialogus  de  Oratoribus ,  usually  ascribed 
to  Tacitus,  and  printed  in  many  editions  of  his  works,  is 
much  more  probably  a  production  of  Quintilian’s. 

As  a  man  he  was  of  a  tender  and  affectionate  disposition, 
and  very  strongly  attached  to  his  wife  and  children,  all  of 
whom  he  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  while  they  were  yet 
young,  his  wife  being  but  nineteen.  He  married  again 
later  in  life,  but  his  pathetic  description  of  the  loss  of  his 
loved  ones,  of  which  we  give  a  portion,  is  one  of  the  most 
affecting  passages  extant  in  Latin  literature. 


388 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  HIS  SON. 

I  had  a  son  whose  eminent  genius  deserved  a  father’s  anxious 
diligence.  I  thought  that  if — which  I  might  fairly  have  expected 
and  wished  for  —  death  had  removed  me  from  him,  I  could  have 
left  him,  as  the  best  inheritance,  a  father’s  instructions.  But  by  a 
second  blow,  a  second  bereavement,  I  have  lost  the  object  of  my 
highest  hopes,  the  only  comfort  of  my  declining  years.  What  shall 
I  do  now?  Of  what  use  can  I  suppose  myself  to  be,  as  the  Gods 
have  cast  me  off?  What  tender  parent  would  pardon  me  if  I  were 
able  to  study  any  longer  and  not  hate  my  firmness  of  mind;  if  I, 
who  survived  all  my  dear  ones,  could  find  any  employment  for  my 
tongue  except  to  accuse  the  Gods,  and  to  protest  that  no  Providence 
looks  down  upon  the  affairs  of  men  ? 

In  my  }^ounger  son,  who  died  at  five  years  old,  I  lost  one  light 
of  my  eyes.  I  have  no  ambition  to  make  much  of  my  misfor¬ 
tunes,  or  to  exaggerate  the  reasons  which  I  have  for  sorrow' ;  would 
that  I  had  means  of  assuaging  it!  But  how  can  I  conceal  his 
lovely  countenance,  his  endearing  talk,  his  sparkling  wit,  and 
(what  I  feel  can  scarcely  be  believed)  his  calm  and  deep  solidity 
of  mind?  Had  he  been  another’s  child  he  would  have  wTon  my 
love;  but  insidious  fortune,  in  order  to  inflict  on  me  severer  an¬ 
guish,  made  him  more  affectionate  to  me  than  to  his  nurses,  his 
grandmother,  who  brought  him  up,  and  all  who  usually  gain  the 
attachment  of  children  of  that  age. 

Thankful  therefore  do  I  feel  for  the  sorrowr  in  which  but  a  few 
months  before  I  wras  plunged  by  the  loss  of  his  matchless,  his  in¬ 
estimable  mother,  for  my  lot  wTas  less  a  subject  for  tears  than  hers 
was  for  rejoicing.  One  only  hope,  support  and  consolation  had 
remained  in  our  Quintilian.  He  had  not,  like  my  younger  son, 
just  put  forth  his  early  blossoms,  but  entering  on  his  tenth  year 
had  shown  mature  and  w'ell-set  fruit.  I  swTear  by  my  misfortunes, 
by  the  consciousness  of  my  unhappiness,  by  those  departed  spirits, 
the  deities  who  preside  over  my  grief,  that  in  him  I  discerned  such 
vigor  of  intellect,  not  only  in  the  acquisition  of  learning  (and  yet 
in  all  my  extensive  experience  I  never  saw  it  surpassed),  such  a 
zeal  for  study,  wdiich,  as  his  tutors  can  testify,  never  required  press¬ 
ing,  but  also  such  uprightness,  filial  affection,  refinement,  and  gener¬ 
osity,  as  furnished  grounds  for  apprehending  the  thunder-stroke 
wdiich  has  fallen.  For  it  is  generally  observed  that  a  precocious 
maturity  too  quickly  perishes ;  . and  there  is  I  know  not  wdiat  en- 


QUINTILIAN. 


389 


vious  power  which  deflowers  our  brightest  hopes,  lest  we  soar 
higher  than  human  beings  are  permitted  to  soar.  He  possessed 
also  those  gifts  which  aire  accidental  —  a  clear  and  melodious  voice, 
a  sweet  pronunciation,  a  correct  enunciation  of  every  letter  both 
in  Greek  and  Latin. 

Such  promise  did  he  give  of  future  excellence ;  but  he  possessed 
also  the  far  higher  qualities  of  constancy,  earnestness,  and  firmness 
to  bear  sorrow  and  to  resist  fear.  With  what  admiration  did  his 
physician  contemplate  the  patience  with  which  he  endured  a  malady 
of  eight  months’  duration!  What  consolation  did  he  administer 
to  me  in  his  last  moments!  When  life  and  intellect  began  to  fail, 
his  wandering  mind  dwelt  on  literature  alone.  O  dearest  object 
of  my  disappointed  hopes!  could  I  behold  thy  glazing  eyes,  thy 
fleeting  breath  ?  Could  I  embrace  thy  cold  and  lifeless  form,  and 
live  to  drink  again  the  common  air?  Well  do  I  deserve  those 
agonizing  thoughts,  those  tortures  which  I  endure! 

THE  GENIUS  OF  HOMER. 

As  Aratus  thinks  that  we  ought  to  begin  with  Jupiter,  so  I 
think  that  I  shall  very  properly  commence  with  Homer.  For  as 
he  says  that  the  head  of  rivers  and  the  courses  of  springs  take  their 
rise  from  the  ocean,  so  has  he  himself  given  a  model  and  an  origin 
for  every  species  of  eloquence:  no  man  has  exceeded  him  in  sub¬ 
limity  on  great  subjects,  no  man  in  propriety  on  small  ones;  he 
is  at  once  copious  and  concise,  pleasing  and  forcible;  admirable 
at  one  time  for  exuberance,  and  at  another  for  brevity;  eminent 
not  only  for  poetical,  but  for  oratorical  excellence. 

What  peroration  of  a  speech  will  ever  be  thought  equal  to  the 
entreaties  of  Priam  beseeching  Achilles  for  the  body  of  his  son? 
Does  he  not,  indeed,  in  words,  thoughts,  figures,  and  the  arrange¬ 
ment  of  his  whole  work,  exceed  the  ordinary  bounds  of  human 
genius  So  much  so,  indeed,  that  it  requires  a  great  man  even  to 
follow  lvis  excellences,  not  with  rivalry  (for  rivalry  is  impossible), 
but  with  a  just  conception  of  them.  But  he  has  doubtless  left 
all  authors  in  every  kind  of  eloquence  far  behind  him,  but  the 
epic  poets  most  remarkably,  as  in  similar  subjects  the  comparison 
is  most  striking. — Watson. 


390 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


TAC' ITUS. 

BORN  ABOUT  60  A.D. 

Ca'ius  Corne'lius  Tac'itus,  who  ranks  among  the  great¬ 
est  historians,  of  either  anci&nt  or  modern  times,  has  left 
scarcely  any  record  of  his  personal  history;  of  his  parent¬ 
age,  and  the  time  and  place  of  his  birth  and  death,  we 
know  nothing  positively.  He  received  marks  of  favor 
from  the  emperors  Vespasian,  Titus  and  Domitian,  under 
whom  he  held  important  offices,  and  in  78  a.d.  he  married 
the  daughter  of  the  celebrated  Agricola.  Tacitus  had 
attained  distinction  as  an  orator  when  the  younger  Pliny 
was  entering  upon  public  life;  and  in  the  year  99,  in 
Nerva’s  reign,  they  were  jointly  appointed  to  conduct 
the  prosecution  of  Marius,  then  proconsul  of  Africa.  The 
two  authors  became  very  intimate,  eleven  of  Pliny’s  letters 
being  addressed  to  Tacitus.  He  probably  lived  till  after  the 
death  of  Trajan,  117  a.d. 

The  age  in  which  he  lived  and  wrote  was  a  happier 
one  than  that  of  many  of  his  predecessors.  Under  the 
genial  and  virtuous  rule  of  Trajan  the  shameless  licen¬ 
tiousness  of  Roman  society  was  in  a  measure  checked,  and 
the  city  relieved  of  the  savage  tyranny  under  which  it 
had  long  groaned. 

The  two  great  literary  lights  of  this  age  were  the  au¬ 
thors  just  named,  Tacitus  and  the  younger  Pliny.  Though 
they  lack  somewhat  the  richness  and  grace  of  the  Augustan 
age,  they  display  a  dignity,  gravity,  honor  and  truth  of 
the  highest  merit.  They  seem  to  have  been  the  warmest 
friends,  being  similar  in  tastes,  and  freely  accepting  criti¬ 
cism  and  correction  of  each  other’s  works. 

The  extant  works  of  Tacitus  are  the  following:  The  Life 
of  Agricola ;  a  small  portion  of  a  large  work  called  His- 
tor  ice,  embracing  the  period  from  the  second  consulship 


TACITUS. 


391 


of  Galba  in  68  to  the  death  of  Domitian  in  96;  the  Annates , 
a  fragmentary  work  extending  from  the  death  of  Augus¬ 
tus  to  the  death  of  Nero  in  68;  De  Moribus  et  Populis 
Germanice ,  a  treatise  on  the  manners  and  nations  of  Ger¬ 
many;  and  Dialogus  de  Oratoribus ,  one  of  his  earliest 
works,  if  his  at  all. 

The  life  of  Agricola  is  not  impartially  written,  as  it 
is  not  probable  that  he  was  a  man  utterly  without  defects, 
as  represented.  It  is,  however,  a  splendid  specimen  of  the 
vigor  and  skill  in  portraiture  of  the  author,  and  one  of 
the  most  attractive  of  biographies.  It  has  been  universally 
admired  as  a  masterpiece  of  noble  sentiment.  It  is  es¬ 
pecially  interesting  to  modern  readers,  since  Agricola  was 
the  first  to  penetrate  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  and  sail 
around  the  northern  extremity  of  the  British  islands. 

The  treatise  on  Germany  is  short,  but  full  of  valuable 
information,  yet  is  trustworthy  only  in  regard  to  those 
Germans  who  were  in  closest  proximity  to  the  Romans. 
Tacitus  was  never  in  Germany  himself,  and  collected  his 
information  from  others,  being  thus  often  vague  and  in¬ 
accurate,  and  quite  unreliable  in  regard  to  the  tribes  be¬ 
yond  the  Rhine.  In  respect  to  the  extreme  north,  he  tran¬ 
scribes  much  superstitious  nonsense,  describing  a  motion¬ 
less,  frozen  ocean,  from  which  a  hiss  is  heard  as  the  sun 
plunges  into  it  at  night,  and  where  the  forms  of  the  Gods 
and  the  radiant  glories  which  surround  their  heads  are 
visible;  where  also  are  monstrous  beings  with  the  bodies 
of  beasts  and  human  heads. 

Of  his  History  but  four  books  remain,  and  part  of  a 
fifth,  though  there  must  have  been  many  more.  In  his 
historical  narrative  he  is  somewhat  too  ready  to  accept 
evidence  unquestioned.  These  defects,  however,  are  few, 
and  he  is  in  general  a  faithful  historian.  He  goes  into 
much  important  detail,  investigating  the  political  state  of 
the  commonwealth,  the  sentiment  of  the  provinces,  the  ele- 


392 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


merits  of  strength  and  weakness,  and  the  causes  of  phe¬ 
nomena.  The  portion  extant  is  from  the  second  consul¬ 
ship  of  Galba  to  the  siege  of  Jerusalem. 

Of  the  sixteen  books  of  th &  Annales  about  two-thirds  yet 
exist.  These  are  more  a  history  of  the  emperors  than  of  the 
people.  They  have  an  important  biographical  interest,  de¬ 
scribing,  not  the  growth  of  political  institutions,  but  the 
influence  of  tyranny  for  good  and  evil  upon  the  people  of 
Rome.  He  introduces  orations,  in  the  old  style  of  his¬ 
torical  composition;  and  many  of  these  are  perfect  speci¬ 
mens  of  the  art. 

Jacitus,  in  some  respects,  stands  at  the  head  of  Roman 
prose  writers.  In  his  love  of  truth  and  integrity  of  pur¬ 
pose,  few  men  have  equaled  him;  in  conciseness  of  ex¬ 
pression,  and  power  of  condensing  much  meaning  into  a 
brief  phrase,  no  man  has  surpassed  him.  His  works  are 
full  of  sagacious  observation  and  picturesque  description, 
and  of  wise  and  dignified  reflection.  With  him  form  is 
always  subordinate  to  matter,  and  ideas  of  more  import¬ 
ance  than  the  language  in  which  they  are  expressed.  His 
brevity  is  that  comprehensive  condensation  of  a  writer 
whose  thoughts  flow  more  rapidly  than  his  pen  can  fol¬ 
low.  Thus  his  sentences  are  full  of  hidden  meaning.  He 
makes  a  free  use  of  poetically  figurative  language,  and 
draws  his  characters  with  a  dramatic  vigor  which  is  very 
effective.  In  short,  Tacitus  occupies  the  same  position 
among  Roman  as  Thucydides  does  among  Greek  historians. 

THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR. 

Had  I  undertaken  to  write  the  life  of  Agricola  immediately  after 
his  death  I  should  have  needed  permission;  but  since  I  should  have 
fallen  on  times  so  cruel  and  hostile  to  virtue,  I  would  not  have 
asked  it.  We  read  that  the  panegyric  of  P;etus  Thrasea  by  Arule- 
nus  Rusticus,  and  of  Priscus  Helvidius  by  Herennius  Senecio,  was 
held  to  be  a  capital  offense.  Nor  were  cruelties  inflicted  merely 
upon  the  authors,  but  also  upon  the  books,  the  officers  of  justice 


TACITUS. 


393 


having  been  required  to  burn  publicly  in  the  forum  the  memorials 
of  these  most  illustrious  men.  They  thought,  forsooth,  that  in  that 
lire  would  be  consumed  the  free  speech  of  the  Roman  people,  the 
liberty  of  the  senate,  the  common  sentiments  of  mankind. 

Philosophers  and  scholars  had  already  been  banished,  lest  any¬ 
thing  of  marked  excellence  should  be  found.  We  have  certainly 
afforded  a  remarkable  instance  of  endurance;  and  as  a  past  age 
suffered  anarchy, —  the  excess  of  liberty, —  so  have  we  the  height 
of  tyranny;  for,  by  a  system  of  espionage,  the  right  of  free  speech 
was  taken  away.  We  should  also  have  lost  the  faculty  of  mem¬ 
ory  had  forgetfulness  been  as  voluntary  as  silence. 

Now,  at  length,  courage  slowly  revives;  although  Nerva  Caesar, 
at  the  very  beginning  of  this  most  happy  age,  united  sovereign 
power  and  popular  freedom,  things  formerly  deemed  incompatible; 
and  Nerva  Trajan  daily  increases  the  prosperity  of  the  empire, 
and  the  public  has  assumed,  not  only  hopes  and  wishes  for  security, 
but  has  seen  these  wishes  arise  to  contidence  and  stability  —  yet, 
by  a  law  of  human  frailty,  remedies  operate  more  tardily  than 
evils;  and  as  our  bodies  grow  slowly,  but  maj^  be  instantly  de¬ 
stroyed,  so  talent  and  literary  zeal  can  be  discouraged  more  easily 
than  revived;  especially  because  the  delights  of  indolence  imper¬ 
ceptibly  steal  in,  and  sloth,  once  scorned,  is  finally  embraced. 

What  shall  I  say  of  those  of  whom,  during  fifteen  years — a  large 
share  of  human  life  —  many  have  died  natural  deaths,  and  all  the 
ablest  have  fallen  victims  to  the  emperor’s  cruelty?  A  few  remain, 
survivors,  not  only  of  others,  but,  so  to  speak,  of  ourselves,  having 
lost  from  middle  life  those  years  in  which  the  young  have  ad¬ 
vanced  in  silence  to  old  age,  and  the  old  have  almost  reached  the 
utmost  limits  of  human  existence. 

ADDRESS  OF  GALGACUS  TO  HIS  SOLDIERS. 

Britons  —  all  the  previous  battles  that  have  been  waged  against 
the  Romans,  with  varied  success,  were  inspired  by  the  hope  of 
final  aid  from  our  hands;  because,  being  the  noblest  bom  of  all 
Britain,  and,  on  that  account,  placed  in  the  very  penetralia  of  our 
fatherland,  our  state,  never  having  beheld  the  edge  of  slave  soil, 
is  not  blurred  by  the  least  glimpse  of  tyranny.  Our  very  seclu¬ 
sion  and  our  glorious  retreat  have  guarded  us  to  this  day  —  the 
remotest  of  men  and  the  last  of  freemen. 

But  now  there  is  no  other  nation  beyond  us,  nothing  but  waves 
and  rocks,  and  the  Romans  more  pitiless,  whose  haughty  arrogance 


394 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


you  will  in  vain  endeavor  to  appease  by  any  cringing  debasement. 
The  thieves  of  the  world !  when  lands  fail  to  satisfy  their  rapacity 
that  devastates  all,  they  ransack  the  seas  also.  If  their  enemy  be 
rich,  they  are  greedy  for  his  wealth;  if  he  be  poor,  they  are  eager 
for  his  enslavement:  a  nation  which  East  and  West  cannot  glut; 
the  only  nation  in  the  world  which  covets  with  equal  ardor  rich 
states  and  poor.  Extortion,  murder,  rapine,  in  their  false  tongue, 
are  known  as  power ;  and  where  they  make  a  solitude  they  call  it 
peace. 

But  all  the  incentives  to  victory  are  on  our  side.  No  wives 
inspire  the  Roman  courage ;  no  parents  are  with  them  to  reproach 
their  flight.  The  majority  have  either  no  native  country,  or  some 
foreign  one.  Few  in  number;  fearful  through  ignorance  of  their 
position ;  looking  around  with  horror  on  these  skies,  seas  and 
forests  —  all  unknown,  completely  hemmed  in,  the  Gods  have  given 
them  up  to  us,  as  it  were,  already  conquered. 

There  is  nothing  to  fear  behind  these:  ungarrisoned  forts;  colo¬ 
nies  of  old  men ;  towns  disaffected  and  torn  with  altercations  be¬ 
tween  disloyal  subjects  and  unjust  governors.  Here  is  your  general, 
here  your  army;  there  exactions  of  tribute;  drudgery  in  mines; 
and  the  other  punishments  of  slaves.  To  choose  these  as  our  last¬ 
ing  portion,  or  at  once  to  avenge  our  wrongs,  depends  on  this  fleld. 
As  you  rush  into  action,  bethink  you  of  your  ancestors  and  your 
posterity. 


MINOR  AUTHORS  OF  THE  SHYER  AGE. 


In  addition  to  the  foregoing,  the  principal  authors  of  what 
is  known  as  the  Silver  Age  of  Latin  literature,  there  are 
others  of  minor  importance,  of  whom  we  may  more  briefly 
speak.  Among  the  earliest  of  these  was  Sil'ius  Ital'icus, 
born  25  a.d.  He  left  a  ponderous  work,  which  still  exists, 
the  dullest  and  most  tedious  poem  in  the  Latin  language. 
Its  title  is  Punica ,  being  an  epic,  in  seventeen  books,  on  the 
second  Punic  war.  It  is  harmonious  in  versification,  which 
is  about  its  only  merit. 

Vale'rius  Flac'cus  lived  in  the  reign  of  Vespasian.  There 
is  a  poem  of  his  extant,  called  the  Argonautica ,  which  is  an 
imitation,  and  in  some  parts  a  translation,  from  Apollonius 
Rhodius.  It  is  a  work  with  no  serious  faults,  being  melodi¬ 
ous,  correct,  and  in  good  taste;  but  it  is  destitute  of  genius 
or  fervor.  It  never  rises  above  a  dead  level,  and  displays 
originality  only  where  it  sinks  into  commonplace. 

Domitian,  the  emperor,  like  his  predecessor  Nero,  also 
wrote  verses.  His  extant  work  is  a  paraphrase  of  the  Phce- 
nomena  of  Aratus,  a  production  not  without  merit  in  lan¬ 
guage  and  versification,  though  not  particularly  poetical. 

The  earliest  prose  writers  of  this  epoch  were  Aufid'ius 
Bas'sus  and  Cremu'tius  Cor'dus.  The  former  wrote  a  his¬ 
tory  of  the  German  and  civil  wars.  Of  the  works  of  the 
latter  only  a  few  fragments  remain.  They  contained  a 
history  of  the  civil  wars,  and  roused  the  wrath  of  the  em¬ 
peror  Tiberius  by  an  attack  on  his  favorite  Sejanus.  See¬ 
ing  that  there  was  no  hope  of  escaping  condemnation  from 
the  cruel  tyrant,  the  author  starved  himself  to  death. 

Velle'ius  Pater'culus  was  a  supporter  of  Seja'nus,  and 

was  probably  put  to  death  on  the  fall  of  that  base  favorite. 

395 


396 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


He  left  a  short  historical  work,  being  a  history  of  Rome,  in 
two  books.  It  is  skillfully  performed,  considering  the  great 
condensation  required.  The  most  striking  events  are  se¬ 
lected,  and  told  in  a  lively  and  interesting  manner.  But  in 
his  account  of  his  own  times  he  is  partial  and  prejudiced. 
In  fact,  it  was  impossible  to  write  true  contemporary  history 
in  those  days  and  survive  the  fatal  crime  of  telling  the  truth. 

Yale'rius  Max'imus  has  left  a  work  called  Dictorum  Fac- 
torumque  Memorabilium,  which  consists  of  a  collection  of 
historical  and  biographical  anecdotes.  His  object  is  to 
illustrate  the  beauty  of  virtue  and  the  deformity  of  vice. 
Nothing  is  known  of  him,  except  that  he  probably  wrote 
during  the  reign  of  Tiberius.  His  style  shows  evident 
marks  of  the  decline  of  the  language  from  its  classic  purity. 

Arue'lius  Cornelius  Cel'sus,  who  also  probably  flourished 
in  the  reign  of  Tiberius,  wrote  numerous  works  on  philoso¬ 
phy,  rhetoric,  agriculture,  etc.,  being  a  man  of  the  greatest 
knowledge.  The  only  work  of  his  extant  is  one  in  eight 
books,  on  medicine.  It  is  a  work  of  great  merit,  showing 
a  clear  knowledge  of  surges  and  practical  acquaintance 
with  disease.  The  highest  testimony  to  its  merits  is  that 
it  is  still  in  use  as  a  text-book.  His  style  has  all  the  purity 
of  the  Augustan  age,  which  has  gained  for  him  the  appella¬ 
tion  of  the  “  Cicero  of  Physicians.”  He  was  followed  by 
Scribo'nius,  an  obsequious  court  physician  of  the  reign  of 
Claudius,  who  wrote  several  works,  one  of  which,  a  large 
collection  of  prescriptions,  is  extant. 

Pompo'nius  Me'la  may  be  considered  as  the  representa¬ 
tive  of  Roman  geographers.  He  lived  in  the  reign  of 
Claudius.  He  has  left  a  work,  called  De  Situ  Orbis,  which 
is  learned  and  systematic.  Its  information,  however,  is  all 
at  second-hand,  being  taken  from  books,  and  is  rendered 
entertaining  by  well  told  myths  and  lively  descriptions. 
The  style  is  simple  and  pure,  but  the  work  little  more  than 
a  bare  skeleton  of  the  geographical  knowledge  of  his  day. 


MINOR  AUTHORS  OF  THE  SILVER  AGE. 


397 


Ju'nius  Modera'tus  Columel'la  has  left  the  most  com¬ 
plete  treatise  on  practical  agriculture,  as  it  existed  in  the 
first  century  of  our  era.  His  work,  De  Re  Rustica ,  is  in 
twelve  books,  and  embraces  a  great  variety  of  subjects  con¬ 
nected  with  farming  life,  as  the  choice  of  a  farm,  arrange¬ 
ment  of  buildings,  rearing  of  stock,  cultivation  of  fruit 
trees,  household  economy,  etc.  It  is  written  in  a  fluent 
though  too  diffuse  style,  and  is  full  of  useful  information. 

Sex'tus  Ju'lius  FrontFnus  has  left  two  works,  still  extant. 
The  first  of  these  is  a  treatise  on  military  tactics,  its  doc¬ 
trines  being  given  in  the  form  of  precepts  and  anecdotes  of 
celebrated  generals.  In  this  way  the  theory  and  practice  of 
ancient  warfare  are  elucidated  in  a  straightforward,  soldier¬ 
like  st}de.  His  other  work  is  an  architectural  treatise,  de¬ 
scriptive  of  those  wonderful  monuments  of  Roman  art,  the 
aqueducts.  Besides  these  there  are  fragments  of  his  on 
surveying  and  the  laws  relating  to  landed  property.  These 
are  valuable,  as  being  the  only  reliable  information  extant 
on  the  subject.  Frontinus  lived  in  the  reign  of  Vespasian, 
and  held  a  military  command  in  England. 

Q.  Cur  tius  Ru'fus,  an  author  of  very  doubtful  date,  has 
left  a  biography  of  Alexander  the  Great,  which,  though  not 
pretending  to  historical  truth,  has  all  the  interest  of  a 
romance.  He  never  loses  an  opportunity  to  exalt  his  hero, 
nor  are  his  talents  as  a  story-teller  checked  by  any  undue 
attention  to  tactics,  geography  or  history.  His  work  is, 
however,  deeply  interesting. 

L.  Annse'us  Flo'rus  has  left  a  short  historical  summary, 
compiled  from  authorities  extant  in  his  time,  probably  in 
greater  part  from  Livy.  It  is  a  mere  dry  skeleton,  and 
very  uninteresting. 

These  comprise  the  chief  of  the  minor  authors,  of  whom 
any  works  are  extant;  with  them  ends  any  active  Roman 
literature  which  may  strictly  be  called  classical,  though  in 
the  succeeding  ages  an  occasional  flash  of  genius  appeared. 


THE  IRON  AGE  OF  ROMAN  LITERATURE. 


With  the  death  of  Juvenal  and  Tacitus,  of  the  younger 
Pliny  and  Suetonius,  the  classic  literature  of  Rome  may 
be  said  to  have  died  also.  Some  sparks  of  the  old  spirit 
survived  in  its  embers,  and  occasionally  broke  into  a  tem¬ 
pered  .glow,  but  as  an  active  and  valuable  literature  it  had 
ceased  to  exist. 

There  were  books  enough  written,  abundance  of  them, 
such  as  they  were.  Many  Christian  authors  used  the  Latin 
tongue  as  their  vehicle,  and  a  number  of  these  attained 
literary  celebrity.  But  they  should  be  viewed  as  the  com¬ 
mencement  of  a  new  epoch  of  literature  —  the  Middle  Age 
period  —  rather  than  as  the  close  of  the  classic  age,  and 
therefore  do  not  come  properly  within  the  limits  of  this 
work. 

The  public  taste  of  the  Roman  people  had  rapidly  and 
greatly  degenerated,  while  the  Latin  tongue  had  lost  its 
classic  purity.  Literary  genius  and  independence  vanished 
with  the  prosperity  of  the  empire,  history  becoming  pane¬ 
gyric  or  epitome,  and  poetry  sinking  into  declamation.  The 
language  itself  gradually  ceased  to  be  employed  as  a  lit¬ 
erary  vehicle,  Roman  authors  writing  in  Greek,  as  in  the 
infancy  of  their  literature.  This  partly  arose  from  the 
long  residence  of  the  emperor  Hadrian  in  Athens,  which 
had  a  powerful  effect  in  Hellenizing  his  taste,  and  that  of 
Rome  after  him. 

After  Nerva  the  emperors  of  Rome  ceased  to  be  Romans, 
but  came  from  all  parts  of  the  wide-extended  empire.  The 

literary  influence  of  the  capital  declined  in  consequence. 

398 


THE  IRON  AGE  OF  ROMAN  LITERATURE. 


399 


We  have  already  seen  that  some  of  the  most  prominent 
authors  of  the  Silver  Age  were  natives  of  the  province  of 
Spain.  But  now  schools  were  established  in  the  most  distant 
parts  of  the  empire,  and  the  culture  of  the  former  age 
taught  to  the  half- barbarian  natives  of  the  provinces.  This, 
doubtless,  had  an  important  effect  in  disseminating  learn¬ 
ing,  and  in  civilizing  these  rude  peoples,  but  its  effect  on 
the  Latin  language  and  literature  was  the  reverse  of  good, 
they  being  corrupted  and  debased  in  the  minds  of  authors 
who  arose  throughout  these  newly  civilized  districts. 

The  language  of  the  Romans,  indeed,  has  pursued  a  very 
different  course  from  that  of  the  Greeks.  The  former  has 
utterly  vanished  as  a  spoken  tongue,  flowing  into  the  sea 
of  modern  thought  like  the  Nile  through  its  delta,  in  a 
series  of  separate  channels,  each  widely  different  in  char¬ 
acter  from  the  parent  stream.  The  Greek,  on  the  contrary, 
has  manifested  a  wonderful  power  of  self-preservation, 
flowing  down  through  time  in  one  undivided  stream, —  cor¬ 
rupted,  it  is  true,  but  not  transformed;  its  latest  authors, 
Lucian  and  Longinus,  writing  with  the  classic  purity,  and 
much  of  the  genius,  of  the  best  writers  of  its  palmy  days. 

To  a  modern  Athenian  the  language  of  the  days  of 
Pericles  is  scarcely  as  difficult  to  read  as  is  that  of  Chaucer 
to  us;  to  a  modern  Italian  the  voice  of  ancient  Rome 
speaks  in  a  dead  language.  This  difference  in  destiny 
springs,  probably,  from  more  than  one  cause.  The  histo¬ 
ries  of  the  two  peoples  are  among  the  most  powerful  in¬ 
fluences.  The  Greeks  continued  a  compact,  limited  race, 
with  a  strong  home  feeling,  and  an  unceasing  pride  in 
their  old  literature,  and  as  ardent  a  pride  in  the  language 
of  these  immortal  works.  The  Latin  tongue  overflowed 
the  world,  was  filtered  through  the  minds  of  diverse  bar¬ 
barian  races,  and  flowed  back  upon  Rome  in  a  changed 
and  corrupted  form.  The  conquerors  of  the  imperial  city 
and  its  provinces  adopted  it  in  part,  diffused  their  own 


400 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


dialects  through  it,  and  radically  changed  the  pure  Latin 
of  the  past  into  the  early  forms  of  the  present  Italian, 
French  and  Spanish  tongues. 

Another  cause  of  this  difference  was  the  superior  promi¬ 
nence  of  Greek  as  compared  with  Latin  literature.  The 
former  was  studied  everywhere  through  the  Roman  empire 
in  its  classic  purity,  and  its  language  escaped  the  degrading 
influences  to  which  the  Latin  was  subjected  by  being  made 
the  vehicle  of  common  speech.  Athens  became,  to  a  certain 
degree,  a  Mecca  of  pilgrimage  for  learned  men,  whose  spoken 
Greek  was  the  pure  tongue  of  the  old  literature,  and  who 
must  have  exerted  a  powerful  influence  toward  the  pres¬ 
ervation  of  this  purity. 

A  third  cause  to  which  we  may  advert  was  the  change 
in  character  of  the  peoples  speaking  the  two  languages. 
The  Greek  of  to-day  has  much  of  the  enthusiasm  and  im¬ 
aginative  force  of  his  ancestors,  and  the  soft,  flowing  lan¬ 
guage  of  the  past  is  excellently  adapted  to  his  nature.  But 
the  hard,  vigorous,  practical  mind  of  the  Roman  is  not 
reproduced  in  his  successors,  and  we  perceive  an  accord¬ 
ant  change  in  the  language.  Its  hard,  unmanageable 
character  has  been  transformed  into  the  liquid  ease  of 
the  Italian,  the  rapid,  sparkling  French,  and  the  sonorous 
Spanish;  all  significant  of  the  mental  constitution  of  the 
speakers,  but  markedly  different  from  the  tone  of  the 
original  tongue.  Probably  the  English,  in  its  Latin  com¬ 
ponent,  preserves  more  fully  the  spirit  of  the  old  tongue 
than  any  of  its  more  direct  descendants;  as  the  English 
race,  indeed,  preserves  more  of  the  hard,  common-sense 
practicality  of  the  Roman. 

With  a  brief  glance  at  the  most  prominent  authors  of 
this  period  of  decline  we  will  close  our  review  of  classic 
literature. 


POETS  OF  THE  IRON  AGE. 


Numerous  as  these  probably  were,  but  few  names  sur¬ 
vive  accompanied  by  poems  of  any  marked  merit,  and  of 
several  of  the  most  noted  of  the  latter  the  true  period  is  ex¬ 
ceedingly  doubtful.  We  will  here  briefly  glance  at  such 
as  have  the  best  title  to  be  called  classical,  with  an  oc¬ 
casional  selection  from  their  poems. 

First  among  them  is, Dionys'ius,  the  author  of  hymns 
which  have  by  some  been  supposed  to  be  nearly  as  ancient 
as  the  time  of  Pindar,  but  who  was  more  probably  an 
iElius  Dionysius,  of  Halicarnassus,  who  flourished  in  the 
reign  of  Adrian. 

The  Hymn  to  Apollo,  however,  from  its  splendid  im¬ 
agery,  is  worthy  of  the  best  age  of  Grecian  poetry. 

HYMN  TO  APOLLO. 

“  Hushed  be  all  the  space  of  air ! 

Mountains  and  woodland  vales, 

Earth,  sea  and  rushing  gales, 

Echoes,  and  notes  of  birds,  your  sounds  forbear: 

Apollo  comes;  I  see  him  nigh; 

The  God  of  flowing  locks,  the  God  of  melody. 

Father  of  morn!  when,  as  her  eyelids  glow 
Dazzling  like  diiven  snow, 

Thou  gladdened  shakest  thy  locks  of  gold, 

And  drivest  thy  rosy  car  whose  wheels  are  rolled 
On  foot-tracks  light  of  winged  steeds  that  fly 
O’er  the  blue  arch  of  yon  unbounded  sky; 

Wreathed,  as  thou  art,  with  many-circled  beams, 

Thou  pourest  abroad  thy  fountain  streams; 

17*  401 


402 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


Tliy  fruitful  splendor’s  flowing  tide 
Bathes  the  round  earth  on  every  side; 

And  rivers  of  immortal  fire  convey 

From  thee,  its  fountain  head,  the  lovely  day. 

The  troops  serene  of  stars  on  high 
Where  blue  Olympus  props  the  sky, 

Confused  in  countless  dance  around 
Chorus  full  their  host  of  sound ; 

Rejoicing  ever,  as  they  sing, 

Oh,  Phoebus!  to  thy  harp’s  symphonious  string. 

The  azured  moon  majestic  leads  the  quire 
Of  Seasons,  dancing  to  thy  lyre; 

While  in  her  car  she  journeys  slow, 

Drawn  by  heifers  white  as  snow; 

And  her  mild  spirit  feels  thy  gladdening  ray, 

While  rolling  on  her  many-winding  way.” — Elton. 

Op'pian,  who  flourished  211  a.d.,  has  left  poems  of 
considerable  merit  on  the  subjects  of  hunting  and  fishing. 
His  works  manifest  the  minute  care  of  a  writer  on  natural 
history,  yet  have  in  them  the  fire  and  life  of  poetry,  being 
embellished  with  apt  similes,  and  displaying  a  rounded, 
flowing  style. 

They  are  dedicated  to  the  emperor  Antoninus  Caracalla, 
which  cruel  monster,  in  a  spasm  of  good  taste,  recalled 
the  poet’s  father  from  exile,  and  rewarded  Oppian  for  the 
poems  with  a  piece  of  gold  for  every  verse;  whence  they 
acquired  the  name  of  “  Oppian’s  Golden  Verses.” 

% 

EXTRACT  FROM  “  THE  ELEPHANT.” 

“None  of  the  forest  kind  so  vast  arise: 

When  swells  the  elephant  before  thine  eyes, 

Like  some  broad  mountain’s  brow  he  spreads  his  form, 

Or  moves  on  earth,  a  cloud  of  blackening  storm. 

Fierce  and  untamed  amidst  the  shady  wood, 

But  mild  with  men,  and  of  a  gentle  mood. 

This  rumor,  too,  a  miracle  I  deem, 

That  strongest  elephants  with  prescience  teem; 


POETS  OF  THE  IKON  AGE. 


403 


And  in  their  minds  prophetical,  await 
Approaching  death  and  unresisted  fate 
Not  midst  the  birds  alone,  with  last  sad  strain, 

The  swans,  prophetic  of  their  end,  complain; 

This  thoughtful  brood  of  beasts,  on  nature’s  verge, 
Themselves,  with  conscious  bodings,  groan  their  dirge.” 

Neme'sian,  who  dates  281  a.d.,  was  a  native  of  Carthage, 
and  the  author  of  a  poem  on  hunting,  and  also  of  Eclogues. 
He  was  a  great  favorite  in  the  eighth  century,  being  intro¬ 
duced  into  the  schools  in  the  time  of  Charlemagne  as  a 
regular  classic.  He  lacks  the  boldness  of  Oppian,  but  has 
a  flowing  and  easy  style  and  an  air  of  impassioned  tender¬ 
ness  in  his  eclogues. 

SONG  OF  IDAS. 

“Wretch  that  I  am!  Behold,  deprived  of  thee, 

Dark  is  the  lily,  wan  the  rose  to  me; 

No  fragrant  leaf  the  bay,  the  myrtle  wreathes, 

Nor  blushing  hyacinth  its  odors  breathes. 

Come  thou!  but  come!  the  rose  again  shall  glow 
With  crimson  flush,  the  lily  shine  like  snow; 

Its  fragrant  leaf  the  bay,  the  myrtle  wreathe, 

And  blushing  hyacinth  its  odors  breathe: 

And  long  as  Pallas  loves  the  brown-leaved  wood, 

Where  the  green  berry  swells  with  oily  flood, 

While  Pales  meads  and  Bacchus  owns  the  vine, 

The  heart  of  Idas,  Donace,  is  thine!” 

Ti'tus  Calpur'nius,  the  Sicilian,  was  a  friend  and  contem¬ 
porary  of  Nemesian,  to  whom  he  inscribed  his  Eclogues. 
These  are  partly  political,  partly  fanciful;  they  are  classical 
in  style,  and  have  occasionally  much  picturesqueness  and 
originality  of  imagery. 

Quin'tus  Smyrnse'us,  a  writer  of  some  epic  merit,  prob¬ 
ably  lived  in  the  fourth  century  a.d.,  though  everything 
concerning  him,  even  his  name,  is  involved  in  doubt.  The 
poem  ascribed  to  him  is  a  “  Supplement  to  the  Iliad,”  which 


404 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


has  been  very  differently  received  by  critics,  some  speak¬ 
ing  of  it  as  puerile,  others  giving  it  high  praise.  Elton 
discovers  in  it  a  dramatic  energy  which  is  lacking  in  Virgil, 
and  views  it  as  formed  on  a  more  ancient  and  vigorous 
school,  recalling  the  style  of  Homer  in  its  strong  pathos  and 
the  fertility  of  its  images,  while  others  find  it  quite  devoid 
of  poetical  ideas,  pathos  or  power  of  characterization. 

Its  fable  seems  to  be  borrowed  from  those  epic  poets  who 
continued  the  “Tale  of  Troy”  after  Homer,  and  who  have 
been  entitled  the  Cyclic  Poets,  from  their  poems  forming 
an  epic  cycle ,  or  circle  of  events,  relating  to  the  Trojan  war. 

The  following  simile  has  in  it  much  of  the  Homeric  ring: 

“As  when  from  some  steep  mountain’s  sky-capt  ridge 
A  rock  enormous  rolls,  which,  high  above, 

Jove’s  untired  arm  with  crackling  lightning  casts 
Down  headlong  from  the  cliff*:  Shattering  it  bounds 
O’er  tangled  thickets  and  long-clefted  dells; 

The  hollow  glens  reverberate  to  the  crash; 

The  flocks,  low  feeding  in  the  wood,  beneath 
The  rolling  ruin,  tremble  and  look  up; 

Or  herds,  or  other  living  thing;  and  shun 
The  imminent  destruction’s  furious  shock; 

So  did  the  Grecians  dread  the  charging  spear 
Of  Memnon.” 

Auso'nius,  dating  365  a.d.,  was  a  native  of  Gaul,  and 
tutor  to  Gratian,  the  son  of  the  emperor  Valentinian.  He 
has  left  a  number  of  poems,  consisting  of  epigrams,  id}ds 
and  epistles,  which  display  a  certain  degree  of  fluency  and 
elegance,  but  cannot  be  praised  as  giving  any  strong  evi¬ 
dence  of  genius  or  correct  taste  in  the  author. 

Clau'dian,  a  writer  of  somewhat  later  date,  is  the  author 
of  a  number  of  poems,  partly  composed  of  invectives  and 
panegyrics,  which  fail  to  exhibit  any  superior  poetic  quali¬ 
ties.  They  resemble  Ovid,  but  only  in  his  faults,  not  in  his 
facility  or  his  imagination.  He  has,  however,  a  gay  fancy, 
and  a  command  of  agreeable,  though  somewhat  gaudy, 


POETS  OF  THE  IRON  AGE. 


405 


imagery.  It  has  been  assumed,  from  certain  sacred  poems 
attributed  to  him,  that  Claudian  was  a  Christian,  but  it  is 
doubtful  if  these  poems  are  his. 

Avie'nus,  a  contemporary  of  Claudian,  is  the  author  of 
some  geographical  poems,  and  of  a  spirited  translation  of 
the  Phaenomena  and  the  Prognostica  of  Aratus.  A  series 
of  fables,  too,  in  the  TEsopian  vein,  have  been  attributed 
to  him,  but  are  probably  the  work  of  Avianus,  a  contem¬ 
porary  author.  They  are  of  no  superior  merit. 

Rutil'ius,  a  native  of  Gaul,  of  date  417  a.d.,  has  left  an 
interesting  poem,  called  the  Itinerary.  It  gives  the  journal 
of  a  voyage  from  Rome  to  Gaul,  and  forms  an  easy  and 
unambitious  narrative,  written  with  the  simple  elegance  of 
style  of  an  Augustan  author. 

Non'nus,  an  author  of  the  fifth  century,  of  whom  we 
only  know  that  he  was  born  in  Egypt,  wrote  an  extensive 
poem,  in  forty-eight  books,  called  the  Dionysiacs ,  taking  its 
title  from  Diony'sus,  or  Bacchus,  who  forms  the  central 
figure  of  its  fable.  He  is  also  the  author  of  an  elegant 
poetical  paraphrase  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  John. 

The  Dionysiacs  forms  an  extensive  collection  of  the  em¬ 
blematic  legends  of  Egypt,  the  cradle  of  ancient  mythology. 
It  is,  however,  put  together  in  a  very  confused  manner,  and 
with  little  idea  of  proper  coherence  of  its  parts.  In  style 
it  is  bombastic  and  inflated,  yet  is  marked  by  good  powers 
of  imagery,  softness  of  tone  and  minuteness  of  description. 
In  these  respects  it  resembles  Ovid.  We  extract  the  follow¬ 
ing  description  from  the  arrival  of  Bacchus  and  his  follow¬ 
ers  on  the  banks  of  the  Hydaspes: 

“Earth  around  them  laughed; 

The  rocks  reechoed ;  shouts  of  reveling  joy 
Shrilled  from  the  naiads;  and  the  river  nymphs 
Sent  echoes  from  their  whirlpool-circled  tides, 

Flowing  in  silence;  and,  beneath  the  rocks, 

Chanted  Sicilian  songs,  like  preludes  sweet, 


406 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


That  through  the  warbling  throats  of  Syren  nymphs, 

Most  musical,  drop  honey  from  their  tongues. 

Shouts  rang  through  all  the  grove;  instinctive  oaks 
Grew  vocal,  and  an  airy  music  breathed 
Like  murmuring  flutes.  The  dryads  mixed  their  cries 
Of  jubilee;  and,  midst  thick-foliaged  boughs, 

The  wood  nymph,  half  appearing,  looked  from  high 
And  carolled  on  the  tree.  The  flowing  brook 
Turned  white  with  snowy  milk,  though  in  itself 
A  spring  of  waters.  In  the  torrent’s  bed 
The  naiads  laved  their  limbs  in  milky  stream, 

And  drank  the  snowy  milk.  The  steepy  rock 
Was  purpled;  spouting  must  of  rilling  grapes 
From  the  red  nipple  of  the  slirubless  stone, 

And  founts  of  pleasant  beverage;  and  distilled 
From  its  spontaneous  clefts  the  luscious  gifts 
Of  honey-dropping  bees,  that  wanted  not 
Combs  in  the  rocks;  and,  from  new-bursting  shoots, 

The  downless  apple  started  into  growth 
Upon  the  prickly  thorn.” 

The  beautiful  poem  of  Hero  and  Leander  has  been  fanci¬ 
fully  ascribed  to  Musse'us,  the  pre-Homeric  Greek  poet, 
but  is  in  all  probability  the  production  of  some  unknown 
author  of  that  name  living  in  the  fifth  century,  to  which 
period  its  style  seems  to  refer  it. 

It  is  a  charming  and  impassioned  production,  combining 
the  warmth  and  luxuriance  of  Ovid  with  the  grace  of 
Apollonius,  and  in  the  catastrophe  rising  almost  to  Homeric 
grandeur. 

“  None  succoring  hastened  to  the  lover’s  call, 

Nor  Love  could  conquer  fate,  though  conquering  all. 

’Gainst  his  opposing  breast,  in  rushing  heaps, 

Burst  with  swift  shock  the  accumulated  deeps; 

Stiff  hung  his  nerveless  feet;  his  hands,  long  spread 
Restless  amid  the  waves,  dropped  numbed  and  dead; 

Sudden  the  involuntary  waters  rushed, 

And  down  his  gasping  throat  the  brine  floods  gushed; 

The  bitter  wind  now  quenched  the  light  above, 

And  so  extinguished  fled  Leander’s  life  and  love.” 


POETS  OF  THE  IRON  AGE. 


407 


Coin' thus,  a  writer  of  the  sixth  century,  and  a  native 
of  Egypt,  is  the  author  of  a  poem  of  considerable  merit, 
called  the  Rape  of  Helen.  It  is  simple  in  its  invention, 
and  elegant  and  pathetic  in  its  details. 

Tryphiodo'rus,  another  poet  of  the  sixth  century,  was 
also  a  native  of  Egypt.  Nothing  further  is  known  of  him. 
The  poem  by  which  he  is  known  is  called  the  Sack  of 
Troy.  It  is  formed  on  the  classic  models,  but  has  little 
epic  force.  It  gives  in  great  detail  the  episode  of  the 
Wooden  Horse,  and  the  description  of  Helen’s  strategy 
with  the  Greek  heroes  concealed  in  the  horse  is  its  only 
portion  that  displays  marked  merit. 

With  this  author  the  list  of  classic  poets  ends.  There 
were  many  writers  of  ecclesiastical  poetry,  whose  work, 
however,  does  not  come  within  our  scope. 


PROSE  WRITERS  OF  THE  IRON  AGE. 


This  period  may  be  viewed  as  beginning  with  the  reign 
of  the  Antonines,  and  as  having  for  its  first  author  of  note 
the  celebrated  emperor  Marcus  Aure'lius.  This  monarch, 
the  noblest  and  most  liberal-minded  of  Roman  emperors, 
and  an  impartial  patron  of  literature  and  philosophy,  was 
himself  a  writer  of  considerable  merit.  His  Meditations 
contain  as  pure  a  code  of  moral  precepts  as  is  to  be  found 
in  the  works  of  any  pagan  author.  They  teach  the  im¬ 
mortality  of  the  soul,  not  as  a  separate  existence,  but 
rather  as  a  reunion  with  the  essence  of  the  Deity. 

His  liberal  encouragement  of  science,  philosophy  and  lit¬ 
erature  aroused  to  emulative  efforts  a  host  of  writers,  yet 
failed  to  bring  forward  any  master  mind  to  renew  the 
fading  glories  of  the  past. 

Among  the  chief  authors  of  the  period  of  the  Antonines 
we  may  name  Julius  Pollux  and  Athenae'us,  the  gramma¬ 
rians;  Aulus  GeTlius  and  Apule'ius,  the  writers  of  miscel¬ 
lanies;  and  Galen,  the  celebrated  physician. 

Julius  Pollux  was  a  native  of  Egypt,  being  born  at  the 
city  of  Nau'cratis.  His  only  extant  work  is  the  Onomasti- 
con ,  a  vocabulary  of  select  synonyms.  He  is  highly  praised 
by  Casaubon,  being  entitled  “  most  excellent,  useful  and 
learned.”  He  filled  the  rhetorical  chair  at  Athens,  and 
was  the  author  of  other  works,  now  lost. 

The  extant  work  of  Aulus  Gellius  may  properly  be 
called  an  ancient  common-place  book.  It  consists  of  a 
series  of  notes,  from  Greek  and  Roman  literature,  jotted 

down  at  random  as  he  met  them  in  the  course  of  his  read- 

408 


PROSE  WRITERS  OF  THE  IRON  AGE* 


400 


ing  or  social  intercourse.  He  was  probably  a  native  of 
Rome,  where,  at  all  events,  lie  studied  rhetoric;  while  he 
spent  some  portion  of  his  life  at  Athens  in  the  study  of 
philosophy.  It  was  during  this  latter  period  that  he  wrote 
his  Nodes  Atticce ,  whose  professed  object  was  to  employ 
the  minds  of  his  children  on  innocent  and  pleasing  sub¬ 
jects,  and  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  long  winter  nights 
in  a  country  house  in  Attica — whence  the  title. 

This  work  is  divided  into  twenty  books,  the  eighth  being 
lost.  It  is  composed  of  literary  and  historical  anecdotes, 
old  epitaphs,  epigrams  etc.,  grammatical  disquisitions,  and 
a  great  variety  of  such  subjects,  usually  dry  in  matter 
and  inelegant  in  manner.  His  book  is  valuable,  however, 
as  it  abounds  in  quotations  from  older  authors,  many  of 
them  writers  whose  works  are  now  lost.  We  append  a 
short  extract. 

On  our  way  from  Cassiopia  to  Brundusiuui  we  passed  through 
the  Ionian,  a  sea  violent,  vast,  and  agitated  with  storms.  During 
the  whole  first  night  of  our  voyage  a  very  stormy  side  wind  filled 
our  vessel  with  water.  At  length,  after  much  complaining,  and 
sufficient  employment  at  the  pump,  daylight  appeared,  but  brought 
no  diminution  of  our  danger  nor  cessation  of  the  storm.  But  the 
whirlwinds  seemed  increasing;  and  the  black  sky,  and  the  balls 
of  fire,  and  the  clouds  forming  themselves  into  frightful  shapes 
(which  they  called  Typhons)  appeared  hanging  over  us,  ready  to 
overwhelm  the  ship. 

In  the  company  was  a  celebrated  philosopher  of  the  Stoic 
school,  whom  I  had  known  at  Athens;  a  man  of  some  consequence, 
and  rather  distinguished  for  the  good  order  in  which  he  kept  his 
pupils.  Midst  all  these  dangers  and  this  tumult  of  sea  and  sky, 
I  watched  this  man  attentively,  anxious  to  know  the  state  of  his 
mind,  whether  he  was  dauntless  and  unalarmed. 

I  observed  that  he  expressed  no  fear  nor  apprehensions,  uttered 
no  complaints  like  the  rest,  nor  gave  into  their  way  of  exclamation. 
But  in  paleness  and  terror  of  countenance  he  differed  but  little  from 
his  neighbors. 

When  the  sky  grew  clear  and  the  sea  became  calm,  a  certain 
rich  Greek  from  Asia  approached  the  Stoic ;  his  wealth  was  proved 

18 


410 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


from  liis  expensive  appearance,  liis  quantity  of  baggage,  and  liis 
train  of  attendants. 

“What  is  the  reason,”  said  he,  in  a  bantering  tone,  “that  when 
we  were  in  danger,  you,  who  are  a  philosopher,  were  afraid  and 
looked  pale,  where  I  was  neither  afraid  nor  pale?” 

The  philosopher,  doubting  whether  it  was  worth  while  to  make 
any  answer:  “If,”  said  he,  “in  so  violent  a  storm  I  did  discover  a 
little  fear,  you  are  not  worthy  of  being  told  the  reason ;  but  that 
follower  of  Aristip'pus  shall  give  you  an  answer  for  me,  who,  upon 
a  similar  occasion,  being  asked  by  a  man  much  like  yourself  why, 
as  a  philosopher,  he  was  afraid  where  he  feared  nothing,  replied, 
that  there  was  not  the  same  cause  for  fear  in  one  as  the  other,  for 
the  preservation  of  a  worthless  coxcomb  was  not  an  object  worthy 
of  much  anxiety,  but  that  he  wras  concerned  for  the  safety  of  an 
Aristippus.” 

With  this  reply  the  Stoic  got  rid  of  the  rich  Asiatic. 

Lucius  Apule'ius,  who  flourished  about  160  a.d.,  was  a 
Platonic  philosopher,  a  native  of  Madau'ra,  a  Roman  colony 
in  Africa.  He  studied  philosophy  at  Carthage  and  Athens, 
sparing  neither  time,  health,  nor  fortune  in  his  desire  for 
knowledge,  and  writing  works  on  almost  every  conceivable 
subject.  He  afterward  practiced  at  the  bar  in  Rome,  and 
finally  retrieved  his  fortunes  by  marrying  a  rich  widow  of 
his  native  place.  For  this  marriage  he  was  subjected  to  a 
trial,  on  the  charge  of  having  won  his  wife’s  affections  by 
magic. 

His  speech  in  his  defense  on  this  occasion  is  still  extant, 
and  is  curious  as  showing  the  kind  of  facts  urged  against 
him  to  sustain  the  charge  of  magic.  These  were:  his  per¬ 
sonal  attractions;  his  habits  of  versification;  his  possession 
of  a  mirror;  his  purchasing  a  rare  fish  and  dissecting  the 
same;  and  the  circumstance  of  a  youth  having  fallen  to  the 
ground  in  his  presence.  The  charge  was  not  sustained. 

His  extant  works  are  De  Dogmate  Platonis ,  De  Deo  Soc- 
ratis  and  De  Mundo ,  with  some  extracts  from  his  speeches, 
and  eleven  books  of  his  best  known  work,  the  Metamor- 
'phosean ,  usually  entitled  the  Golden  Hss. 


PROSE  WRITERS  OF  THE  IRON  AGE. 


411 


This  is  a  collection  of  ancient  tales,  largely  copied  from 
Lucian,  put  together  with  little  art,  and,  for  the  most  part, 
with  little  pretension  to  character,  invention,  wit,  or  humor. 
Some  of  his  circumstances  have  been  borrowed  by  modern 
novelists,  as  Boccaccio  and  Cervantes.  The  most  creditable 
portion  of  his  work  is  the  beautiful  poetical  legend  of  Cupid 
and  Psyche,  which  is  composed  with  delicacy  of  taste  and 
a  poetical  imagination. 

It  is  a  “  philosophical  allegory  of  the  progress  of  virtue 
toward  perfection,”  and  has  furnished  subjects  for  en¬ 
gravers,  sculptors  and  painters,  both  in  ancient  and  modern 
times.  We  extract  the  result  of  the  fatal  curiosity  of 
Psyche,  after  she  has  been  persuaded  by  her  false  sisters 
that  her  unseen  husband  is  a  hideous  monster,  and  urged 
by  them  to  slay  him  in  his  sleep. 

“Now  trembling,  now  distracted;  bold, 

And  now  irresolute  she  seems; 

The  blue  lamp  glimmers  in  her  hold, 

And  in  her  hand  the  dagger  gleams. 

Prepared  to  strike  she  verges  near, 

The  blue  light  glimmering  from  above; 

The  hideous  sight  expects  with  fear; 

And  gazes  on  the  God  of  love. 

Not  such  a  young  and  frolic  child 
As  poets  feign  or  sculptors  plan; 

No,  no,  she  sees,  with  transport  wild, 

Eternal  beauty  veil’d  in  man. 

His  cheek’s  engrained  carnation  glowed 
Like  rubies  in  a  bed  of  pearls; 

And  down  his  ivory  shoulders  flowed, 

In  clustering  braids,  his  golden  curls. 

Soft  as  the  cygnet’s  down,  his  wings; 

And  as  the  falling  snow-flake  fair 

Each  light,  elastic  feather  springs, 

And  dances  in  the  balmy  air. 


412 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


There,  loosely  strung,  that  bow  was  hung, 

Whose  twanging  cord  immortals  fear; 

And  on  the  floor  his  quiver  flung 

Lay  stored  with  many  an  arrow  near. 

Clasped  in  her  sacrilegious  hands 

She  with  the  arrows  played  and  laughed  — 

The  crimson  on  her  finger  stands! 

She’s  wounded  by  the  poisoned  shaft! 

The  red  blood  riots  in  her  veins, 

Her  feverish  pulses  wildly  beat, 

Whilst  every  wakened  fibre  strains 
And  throbs  with  palpitating  heat. 

With  eyes  where  sparkling  rapture  swims 
She  contemplates  his  sleeping  grace, 

Hangs  fondly  o’er  his  well-turned  limbs, 

And  joins  to  his  her  fervid  face. 

But  as  her  views  intent  to  foil, 

Or  as  that  form  it  longs  to  kiss, 

Dropped  from  the  lamp  the  burning  oil 
And  roused  him  from  his  dream  of  bliss. 

Sudden  loud  thunders  shake  the  skies, 

The  enchanted  palace  sinks  around; 

And  sanguine-streaming  fires  arise, 

Meteorous  from  the  trembling  ground; 

And  swift,  as  when  in  fury  hurls 

Jove’s  red  right  arm  the  forky  light, 

The  wounded  Godhead  eddying  whirls 
Into  the  heaven  of  heavens  his  flight- 

"  In  vapory  twilight,  damp  and  chill, 

The  languid  star  fades  pale  away, 

The  high  peak  of  the  distant  hill 
Is  gilded  by  the  gleam  of  day.” 

The  celebrated  Gale'nus  (Galen)  was  born  at  Pergamus, 
131  a.d.  He  was  highly  educated  in  the  various  philo¬ 
sophical  systems,  but  applied  himself  to  the  study  of  med¬ 
icine  with  the  greatest  ability  and  success.  He  soon  sur- 


PROSE  WRITERS  OF  THE  IRON  AGE-  413 

passed  all  contemporary  physicians,  and  gained  a  reputation, 
which  he  still  retains,  as  the  greatest  of  ancient  professors 
of  medicine. 

Galen  was  a  voluminous  writer,  and  applied  himself  to 
a  great  variety  of  subjects.  He  thought  very  highly  of 
Hippocrates,  and  availed  himself  of  his  works,  reasoning 
and  theorizing  on  the  facts  observed  by  him  and  others. 
His  principal  defect  is  his  vanity  respecting  himself,  which 
he  very  plainly  displays. 

A  considerable  number  of  his  works  is  extant,  and  they 
furnish  some  warrant  for  the  very  high  respect  in  which 
he  was  held  by  the  ancients,  being  yet  valuable  additions 
to  medical  science. 

Athense'us,  a  celebrated  grammarian,  was  a  native  of 
Egypt,  who  flourished  early  in  the  third  century.  He  has 
left  a  learned  work,  called  Eruditi  Viri  Coenantes,  which 
is  a  storehouse  of  curious  and  valuable  information. 

Laren'sius,  a  rich  and  literary  Roman,  is  supposed  to 
collect  at  his  table  learned  men  of  various  professions, 
whose  conversations  are  related  by  Timoc'rates  to  our  au¬ 
thor.  The  courses  of  the  banquet  suggest  the  subjects,  in 
connection  with  which  are  introduced  passages  from  his¬ 
torians,  poets,  philosophers,  orators,  and  philologists,  on 
an  almost  infinite  variety  of  topics,  as  on  fish,  vegetables, 
musical  instruments,  wines,  natural  history,  curious  inven¬ 
tions,  the  customs  and  habits  of  private  life,  proverbs  and 
anecdotes.  His  immense  number  of  citations  from  ancient 
authors  is,  to  scholars,  the  chief  value  of  his  work.  We 
owe  to  him  many  of  the  extant  fragments  of  the  great 
dramatists. 

The  most  extensive  field  of  prose  literature,  after  the 
period  of  the  Antonines,  is  devoted  to  history.  But  it  is 
not  history  in  the  old  sense,  being  corrupt  in  language, 
unreliable,  and  lacking  in  interest.  Most  of  the  authors 
chose  their  subjects  from  their  own  times,  concerning  which 


414 


•  THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


truth  had  become  a  very  dangerous  element,  and  investi¬ 
gation  too  perilous  to  be  attempted. 

Of  the  mass  of  these  writers  we  know  little  more  than 
the  names,  of  which  a  large  number  are  on  record.  The 
most  celebrated  historical  work  of  the  time  is  the  collec¬ 
tion  of  imperial  biographies  now  extant,  under  the  title 
of  Histories  Augustes  Scriptores.  It  extends  from  the  life 
of  Hadrian  to  that  of  Carus  and  his  sons,  and  is  the  work 
of  six  different  authors. 

Among  other  historians  is  Aure'lius  Vic'tor,  the  reputed 
author  of  De  Viris  Illustribus  Romes ,  a  series  of  biographies. 
Fla' vius  Eutro'pius  wrote  a  Brief  History  of  Rome ,  in  a  style 
unusually  clear  and  simple  for  his  time,  and  with  a  mod¬ 
erate  estimate  of  his  contemporaries  that  speaks  well  for 
his  credibility.  For  these  reasons  his  work  is  in  request 
to  the  present  day,  as  a  text-book  for  schools.  He  died 
about  the  year  370. 

Another  historian  of  great  value  is  Ammia'nus  Mar- 
celli'nus.  He  was  of  Greek  extraction,  served  in  the  armies 
of  Constantius  and  Julian,  and  afterward  wrote  a  history 
of  the  empire  from  Nerva  to  Trajan,  both  inclusive.  The 
first  thirteen  books  are  lost,  but  the  most  valuable  portion, 
comprising  the  events  which  he  himself  witnessed,  is  extant, 
and  is  highly  meritorious  for  its  integrity,  impartiality,  ob¬ 
servation  and  reflection.  Its  style  is  affected  and  the  lan¬ 
guage  obscure,  but  the  work  itself  is  marked  by  many  of 
the  merits  of  the  best  historians. 

Justi'nus  Fronti'nus  (Justin),  an  author  probably  of  the 
third  or  fourth  century,  though  some  assign  him  an  earlier 
date,  has  left  an  epitome  of  the  larger  work  of  Tro'gus 
Pompe'ius,  which  gives  us  valuable  information  on  some 
points,  but,  as  a  whole,  is  of  no  great  merit.  The  work  it 
epitomizes  was  a  mere  compilation,  and  only  useful  where  it 
happened  to  borrow  its  materials  from  an  able  writer. 

While  history  was  thus  degenerating  virtually  into  pane- 


PROSE  WRITERS  OF  THE  IRON  AGE. 


415 


gyric,  oratory  was  becoming  such  literally  and  formally. 
We  possess  a  collection  of  twelve  of  these  panegyrics,  dating 
from  the  end  of  the  third  to  the  end  of  the  fourth  century, 
and  known  under  the  name  of  Panegyrici  Veteres.  The 
most  valuable  of  these  is  that  by  Drepa'nius,  of  Bordeaux, 
being  a  congratulation  of  the  emperor  Theodo'sius  on  the 
overthrow  of  Max'imus,  spoken  at  Rome,  391  a.d. 

There  were  also  numerous  rhetoricians  during  this 
period,  but  none  who  have  left  any  works  of  value. 

The  art  of  letter-writing  was  likewise  diligently  prose¬ 
cuted,  and  there  are  several  collections  of  letters  extant, 
which  are,  however,  of  more  political  than  literary  value. 
The  most  meritorious  of  these  authors  was  Aure'lius  Sym'- 
machus,  who  died  in  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century. 
His  letters  are  elaborate  studies  after  classical  originals, 
especially  Pliny;  their  main  value  being  in  their  discussion 
of  legal  and  political  matters,  and  the  relations  of  Chris¬ 
tianity  to  heathenism. 

The  only  other  authors  remaining  to  be  noticed  are  the 
philosophical  writers.  Of  all  branches  of  literature  none 
had  deteriorated  more  greatly  than  philosophy.  This  re¬ 
sulted  from  two  causes:  the  general  decay  of  literature 
itself;  and  the  spread  of  Christianity,  which,  by  substituting 
certainty  for  scepticism,  and  authority  for  conjecture,  super¬ 
seded  the  old  philosophical  theories.  Several  of  the  ecclesi¬ 
astical  writers  indulged  in  speculation;  but  this  was  a  very 
different  thing  from  the  old  classic  philosophy,  and  not  to 
be  included  with  it. 

Of  Roman  philosophers  there  are  but  two  names  of  im¬ 
portance.  Macro'bius,  a  writer  of  the  time  of  Theodo'sius 
the  younger,  has  left  two  works  of  great  value;  a  com¬ 
mentary  on  Cicero’s  Somnium  Scijpionis,  and  seven  books  of 
Saturnalia. 

The  first  of  these  works  may  be  regarded  as  an  illustra¬ 
tion  of  the  philosophy  of  the  New  Platonists,  and  contains 


416 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


much  curious  and  important  matter  on  ancient  cosmography 
and  philosophy.  The  Saturnalia  comes  more  within  the 
province  of  the  grammarian,  resembling  the  work  of  Aulus 
Gellius.  It  yields  us  valuable  information  in  regard  to 
lost  writers,  and  is  especially  curious  in  its  display  of  the 
extensive  plagiarisms  of  Virgil. 

But  the  only  writer  of  this  period  who  can  be  properly 
classed  with  the  ancient  philosophers,  and  who  is  the  latest 
of  Latin  authors  of  any  merit,  is  Boe'thius,  or,  to  give  him 
his  full  name,  Anicius  Manlius  Torquatus  Severinus  Boe¬ 
thius. 

He  was  born  about  470  a.d.,  of  a  distinguished  family, 
and  was  highly  educated,  being  deeply  versed  in  Greek 
philosophy.  He  held  the  office  of  consul  under  Theod'oric, 
but,  by  the  machinations  of  his  enemies,  he  was  condemned, 
imprisoned,  and  eventually  executed.  While  in  captivity 
he  composed  his  celebrated  treatise  De  Consolatione  Philo- 
sophice ,  which  has  been  a  comfort  to  many  similar  sufferers, 
being  the  bosom  companion  of  the  English  king  Alfred,  in 
the  vicissitudes  of  his  life,  and  the  study  of  Elizabeth  when 
in  prison.  Both  these  sovereigns  translated  it  into  the  ver¬ 
nacular  of  their  day. 

In  this  work  Boethius  himself  holds  a  conversation  with 
Philosophy,  who  shows  him  the  mutability  of  all  earthly 
fortune,  and  the  insecurity  of  everything  except  virtue. 
The  style  of  the  work  happily  imitates  the  best  Augustan 
models,  and  its  poetical  portions  are  marked  by  truthful¬ 
ness  of  feeling  and  metrical  accuracy. 

We  close  with  a  short  specimen  of  this  latest  of  classical 
authors,  from  the  translation  by  King  Alfred,  one  of  the 
earliest  authors  of  the  new  dispensation. 

THE  INSTABILITY  OF  FAME. 

And  ye  nevertheless  care  not  whether  ye  do  any  good,  on  any 
other  account  than  for  the  little  praise  of  the  people,  and  for  the 
short  fame  which  we  before  have  spoken  of.  Ye  labor  for  this,  and 


PROSE  WRITERS  OF  THE  IRON  AGE. 


417 


despise  the  excellencies  of  your  mind  and  of  your  understanding 
and  of  your  reason,  and  would  have  the  reward  of  your  good  works 
from  other  men’s  report. 

Ye  look  thereto  for  the  reward  which  ye  should  seek  from  God. 
But  thou  hast  heard  what  long  ago  happened;  that  a  very  wise 
man  and  very  noble  began  to  try  a  philosopher,  and  scoffed  at  him 
because  he  so  arrogantly  lifted  himself  up,  and  proclaimed  this, 
that  he  was  a  philosopher.  He  did  not  make  it  known  by  any 
talents,  but  by  false  and  proud  boasting.  Then  the  wise  man  was 
disposed  to  prove  him,  whether  he  was  so  wise  as  lie  himself 
thought  that  he  was.  He  therefore  began  to  revile  and  speak  ill 
of  him. 

Then  the  philosopher  heard  the  wise  man’s  words  very  patiently 
for  some  time.  But  after  he  had  heard  his  revilings  he  then  retorted 
with  great  impatience  (though  he  had  before  pretended  that  he  was 
a  philosopher),  and  again  asked  him  whether  he  considered  him  to 
be  a  philosopher  or  not.  Then  answered  the  wise  man  to  him 
and  said : 

“  I  would  say  that  thou  wert  a  philosopher  if  thou  wert  patient, 
and  able  to  be  silent.” 

How  long  was  to  him  the  fame  which  he  before  falsely  sought  ? 
How  did  he  not  immediately  burst  because  of  one  answer  ?  What 
has  it  then  profited  the  best  men  who  were  before  us  that  they  so 
greatly  desired  vain-glory  and  fame  after  llieir  death?  Or  what 
does  it  profit  those  who  now  are  ?  Therefore  it  were  to  every  man 
more  needful  that  he  were  desirous  of  good  actions  than  of  deceit¬ 
ful  fame.  What  has  he  from  this  fame  after  the  separation  of  the 
body  and  the  soul  ?  Do  we  not  know  that  all  men  bodily  die,  and 
yet  the  soul  is  living?  But  the  soul  goes  very  freely  to  the  heavens 
after  it  is  set  loose,  and  is  liberated  from  the  prison  of  the  body. 
It  then  despises  all  these  earthly  things,  and  rejoices  in  this,  that  it 
may  enjoy  the  heavenly  after  it  is  taken  away  from  the  earthly. 
Then  the  mind  will  itself  be  witness  of  God’s  will. — King  Alfred. 

WEALTH  IS  NOT  WORTH. 

> 

It  is  the  condition  of  the  life  of  men  that  they  then  only  are 
before  all  other  creatures  when  they  themselves  know  what  they  are 
and  whence  they  are ;  and  they  are  worse  than  cattle  when  they 
will  not  know  what  they  are  or  whence  they  are.  It  is,  therefore, 
very  plain  to  you  that  ye  are  in  error  when  ye  think  that  any  one 
can  be  made  honorable  by  external  riches. 


418 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 


If  any  one  is  made  honorable  with  any  riches,  and  endowed  with 
any  valuable  possessions,  does  not  the  honor  then  belong  to  that 
wdiich  makes  him  honorable?  That  which  is  adorned  with  any¬ 
thing  else  is  not  therefore  fairer,  though  the  ornaments  be  fair 
which  it  is  adorned  with.  If  it  before  was  vile  it  is  not  on  that 
account  fairer.  Know  thou  assuredly  that  no  good  hurtetli  him 
who  possesses  it.  Thou  knowest  that  I  lie  not,  and  also  know  that 
riches  often  hurt  those  who  possess  them. — King  Alfred. 


Date  Due 


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